


Token Courtship

by Ook



Series: Token Gesture [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe- still have powers, Blackmail, Brothels, Cain must suffer, Calm Down Erik, Courtship, Everybody Loves Charles, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, It came from my brain, Lost Heirs and Brave Princesses, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Multi, Politics, Rape Recovery, Royalty, Slavery, Unexpected person in the relationship area
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 31,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Raven takes the throne of Genosha, her loyal Swords at her side.<br/>Can she manage a turbulent court, unruly neighbours and her own heart?<br/>Will Charles and Erik ever manage to go all the way?<br/>Will Cain Marko be amusing?<br/>Will Prince Azazel's dynastic or Hank Mcoy's romantic hopes bear fruit? </p><p> </p><p>Will the author shut up and post this so you can all find out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introducing our main characters...

King Darkholme had taken a month to die. He was elderly- Raven had been the daughter of his second marriage- but it was still difficult for the entire kingdom to accept the loss. Let alone his daughter, now Queen of Genosha.  
It was harder for Raven; who loved her father and her king; and professed (to her most trusted Swords alone) that she felt unready to reign.   
“I don’t think anyone who’s a good ruler feels _ready_ to rule.” Charles said, thoughtfully. “And, my Lady- you will be Queen; but you won’t be alone.” 

Erik, from where he was leaning on Charles’s shoulder, rumbled a wordless agreement. His leg had healed well, but he still preferred to stand where he could.  
“Yes; everyone will be watching.” Raven said, unhappily. “Just like the funeral.”  
“You will always have your Swords.” Erik said, gently. “And your Champion.” Wanly, she smiled at them both. She did have her friends. But also, she wanted her father.. Raven shook her head, trying to free herself from sad thoughts.  
“What is the business for today?” Charles glanced sideways, thinking.

“You have a meeting with your Council-” She made a face. “And then the ambassador from the Crimson Kingdom will be at the public audience with the trade delegation from Westchester.” Charles’ shoulders tightened. Erik put a hand over his, and squeezed, lightly. To too many people from Westchester, Charles Xavier was still a slave; a runaway who should be returned to his owners, not the Queen’s Champion of Genosha. It made diplomacy… challenging.   
“Who will be there from Westchester?” Raven said. Tensions between the two countries were still running high, even after the defeat of Sebastian Shaw had become common knowledge.  
“I’ve mostly communicated with the secretary to the delegation. Hank McCoy.” Charles said. “We don’t know who they finally decided on naming; or at least the Ambassador wouldn’t tell me.”

Raven’s lips tightened.  
“It’s all right, Majesty.” Charles said, hastily.  
“An insult to you, Charles, is an insult to _me._ ” Raven said. Erik nodded.  
“I don’t… we don’t want to trade political capital simply because they’re _rude_ to me.” Charles said, quietly. “There are more important things.”  
“An insult to me is an insult to the Crown.” Raven said, quietly. “I cannot have it said I can’t or won’t even defend my most loyal and trusted servant.” Charles blinked. “You’re Champion, Charles.” Raven said, gently. “You’re my representative as I am Genosha’s.”  
“Also, we like you better than we do them.” Erik said. Charles had to smile.

 

Cain Marko was not the happiest of men. He didn’t like travelling out of Westchester; even for business. Especially for business, wasn’t one of the reasons Dad had married Sharon was that, despite her drinking, and stupidity, she was a wealthy aristocratic widow? That made the Markos noble, or noble enough they shouldn’t have to bother with following trade. He crushed the little voice that told him he didn’t like trading and diplomacy because he’d had so few successes. That was in Westchester, where everyone knew there’d been a little… awkwardness with the former Xavier heir, and Cain had somehow been involved in it. The nobles all loved to judge them over it. Hypocrites. Surely Genosha would be different. None of them would know of the little blot in Cain’s family copybook. They didn’t even _have_ slaves.

He didn’t like the ship he’d travelled on. It was cramped, and smelly, and, like all ships bound to Genosha, had no slaves. Cain had been forbidden to bring his own slaves on board; forcing him to sell up in Haven, at a very poor rate. Every soul on board was a free man. It was too expensive, the ship’s captain had explained, mockingly slowly, when Cain had requested the use of the next available slave, for an hour or so.   
“Slaves _escape_ , my lord, when t’ships they’re aboard put in to Genosha.” He’d said. “These; well, I have to pay ‘em, but a voyage comes out cheaper when I don’t have to purchase the crew every time.”

 _And_ Cain didn’t like his secretary. He never had, but knowing he was under Cain’s thumb had been enough to tolerate him in the past. Usually knowing just how much control he had over Hank, a learned free man, made Cain smile. Now, seeing him stride about the deck without so much as a hint of the sea sickness that plagued Cain was an insult. An insult to all decent, non-gifted men.   
“McCoy!” he bellowed, and was pleased to see the younger man turn pale and stagger before hurrying to his side. That was more like it! 

“I need some rest and relaxation soon as we hit the docks. Won’t be up to the audience otherwise.” Cain scratched his chin. He was looking forwards to bathing in fresh water again.  
“Ah, yes sir?” Hank said, cautiously. “We have two days after we arrive-“  
“Find me a decent brothel. Not one of the cheap ones like that place in Haven.” Cain grinned, viciously as Hank flushed. “You can come along as well, if you like.” Hank shook his head, tight lipped. “We’ll put it on expenses. Gathering info, that kind of thing.” Hank opened his mouth. Cain grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “I know you’re keeping tabs on me for Daddy dearest.” He hissed. “Just remember what _I_ know about _you_.”  
“Yes, Sir.” Hank said, miserably.  
“Great.” Cain flicked a hand, dismissing him. 

 

Azazel of Muscovy, Prince of the Crimson Kingdom, was pleasantly intrigued. He had never travelled by boat before. Not because he had never travelled; but since he had been old enough to carry his friends- or a horse or two- with him, when he travelled the dark, it had never been necessary. He could move more quickly by himself. But this was an official, diplomatic journey to the island Kingdom of Genosha. He could not simply pop himself over there and hope for the best. Letters had to be exchanged. Portraits, trinkets and so had to be sent, and a delegation of friends, nobles and people too powerful to ignore or leave behind had to be assembled. Too many for even the Scarlet Prince to bring with him.

Soon he was to meet, and probably court, possibly hope to marry, the Queen of Genosha. Such a diversion rarely came his way. Usually his father had him training up in statecraft, or feats of arms, or battle tactics. This journey to Genosha was almost a holiday, in contrast. Oh, he was aware of his duties, to his father the King, and to his future realm, but, unless the official paintings he had seen had been crafted by a shameless liar, that duty might not be entirely unpleasant. As long as Queen Raven found him favourable in her eyes. It would be interesting, of course. 

And a challenge. Azazel loved challenges. They stirred his blood as little else did. Often, however, in the arts of courting, or love, his rank and title counted against him. Women (and some men) often yielded themselves all too willingly to a Prince of the Blood Royal. Much as Azael would like to ascribe his success solely to his considerable physical and intellectual charms, he knew it was not so.   
“Princes are always better looking than commoners!” he secretary would say, chidingly, as yet another hopeful conquest batted big eyes at him. And Janos was right. About many, many things.

Janos was a pearl, a prize among secretaries. He was close mouthed, to the point of appearing mute, at times, yet he had a wicked wit when he did open his lips. He remembered _everything_ , even the things Azazel would rather forget. He could not be bribed, or threatened or coaxed. For some, inscrutable Janos-ian reason, he had fixed his loyalty on Azazel, and nothing would keep him from protecting the Princes’ best interests. No courtiers, nor brigands- although there was precious little to choose, between the two- not even the King, not even Azazel himself, could persuade Janos to do other than what he thought best for his master.

Azazel paced the deck of the ship thoughtfully; grateful his tail gave him an extra balance as well as grip. The other disadvantage that Azazel’s rank and fame gave him in the courting stakes, was that, as heir to his father, he _dared_ not make the succession muddier by fathering bastards, nor could he favour any one person too closely. It had been centuries since the Bastard wars, where half brother had risen against half brother, and longer still since the King’s favourite had been murdered so cruelly, for influencing one to many of her loves’ decisions. Azazel’s father remembered his history, however; and had seen his son drew the right lessons from it. 

So, Azazel had to have true born heirs, and no other issue. Azazel had to have a consort worthy of him; who would strengthen his hold on crown and country, not weaken it.   
Queen Raven might well be able to supply all that he needed. The challenge would be in proving to her that he could do the same for her. What might she demand of him? Azazel bounced on his feet and laughed aloud. The captain of the ship looked worried.  
“I am anticipating a challenge, in Genosha.” Azazel explained. The captain looked to the quiet man lurking at Azazel’s elbow for an explanation.

“The Prince my master loves challenges.” Janos said, dryly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik share a moment of quiet progress.
> 
> Oh, and Erik jerks off.

Charles let out a pleasured groan. Erik smiled to himself in smug secret delight that he and he alone could coax these sounds out of the Queens’s Champion.  
“Oh... right _there_!” Charles sighed as Erik’s strong fingers moved over him, slippery with sweet oil. “And stop grinning like that.”  
“Charles, you’re face down in the pillows, how can you-“  
“You’re grinning in my head.” Charles said, with dignity that was somewhat short lived as Erik’s broad hands swept up his back, pushing another sigh from him.

“I take it that Jean’s suggestion meets with your approval?” Erik said, and he went to work massaging Charles’s shoulders.  
“Mmm.” Charles said, dreamily. A sense of ease, of comfortable relaxation permeated the room like soft incense. Erik tried not to smile, taking the fading of Charles’s formidable telepathic shields as the sign of a job well done.

“You know, you really are too tightly wound.” Erik said. “I can feel it in your muscles.”  
“Lot of… responsibility.” Charles said, slowly, drowsily. “And… shields.”  
“You don’t maintain your telepathic restraints with your back, do you?” Erik said, playfully.  
“Worry about them slipping.” Charles’s back quivered under Erik’s hands, tension he thought he’d defeated returning to Charles’s sturdy frame.

“We’re in House Grey.” Erik reminded him. “Jean’ll catch any major slips- and it’s not like anyone here will complain about feeling extra good.”. And if Charles did leak, well, they were in the finest house of pleasure on Genosha. No one was going to _notice_. Steadily, Erik began working down Charles’ spine again. He let his hands pass over the scars without comment, neither ignoring them nor paying attention to the lingering marks of Charles’s past. This was a moment outside of time, for both of them. And, scarred, or not, Charles’s back was as lovely to touch as it was to look at

“If it was anyone else-“ Charles said, tensing again. “I- I still wouldn’t be able to do this. It’s not just feeling good I’m worried about broadcasting, Erik.” Erik did not stop moving. Charles wriggled a little under his hands. He wondered if they needed more oil yet.  
“I- Thank you.” Erik said. “For being able to, to-“  
“Trust you?” Charles said. “The telepathy means I don’t have to, you know.”  
“Because you could stop me.” Erik said, saddened. He sat back on his heels. He took a deep breath.

Now was _not_ the time to indulge himself in the hatred of anyone who had ever hurt Charles. Charles opened his eyes, and hastily turned over.  
“No- Oh, damnit, why do I always say the wrong thing when I relax like this?” he said. “I’m sorry, Erik, I don’t mean _that._ " He put his hand into Erik’s, and looked him in the eye. “I mean skin to skin like this”- he went a little pink- “I can feel how you feel without even trying. I don’t have to trust you mean me well, you like making me feel good, because you keep telling me, that, with every touch…” He trailed off, and stared at his knees.

Erik relaxed, the sting of Charles’s initial words fading under the rush of information. He knew, after a lifetime of slavery, of exploitation and assault, how hard it was for Charles to be here, naked, like Erik, apart from their smallclothes. He looked at the man he loved. So beautiful. So brave. More beautiful than gold or ivory or sapphires in the candle light. Erik smiled, wryly and tightened his fingers around Charles’.  
“Stop it.” Charles mumbled, flushing again.

“No.” Erik said, quietly. “Body and soul, Charles, I will always find you beautiful. And brave.” It was true. He could not imagine feeling otherwise about his- about the Queens’ Champion. No matter what happened.  
“You haven’t even-“ Charles said. “I can’t-“ He broke off, flushing again, and coughed. “I can feel your desire, you know.” He said finally.  
Erik nodded. No point in denying it, given, well. Telepathy.

“I desire your joy more than my temporary ease.” Erik said, calmly. “And that comes”- He made a face at the unfortunate pun- “I have it on good authority, when _you_ are ready. Not before.” Charles opened his mouth.“Don’t tell me that doesn’t matter.” Erik said, sharply. Charles closed his mouth. “I won’t hurt you.” Erik said. “I _will not._  
“I know.” Charles said, softly. “I know.”

“Besides, I have hands.” Erik said. “You like my hands.” He smirked. Charles turned pinker. “I can show you, if you like.” Erik said, softly.  
“I.” Charles said, and then stopped. “I think I would like- you don’t mind someone watching?”  
“Not if it’s you.” Erik said, and felt a fierce tangled rush of _excitement/anxiety/ desire/anticipation_ wash over him. He blinked.

“Ah- sorry.” Charles said, and Erik smirked.  
“Flattering.” He said, and moved to sit at the head of the bed they were perched on, shoulder to shoulder with Charles. “This all right?” Charles nodded. Erik rubbed a lazy palm over his own groin, and smiled, as Charles seemed transfixed by the movements of his hand.  
“Hmmm.” Erik said, and slid a hand up to toy with his nipples. The traces of oil on his hands slicked them up wonderfully.

“I- You’re thinking about me.” Charles croaked, hands clenched white-knuckled on the sheets beneath them.  
“I usually am. Does that bother you?” Erik said, gasping, and slipped a hand under the fine linen to touch himself skin to skin. He hissed at the sensation. Charles shook his head, eyes wider than Erik had ever seen them, pupils blown wide and dark.  
“N-no.” Charles said. “No. I- I think-“  
“Good.” Erik said, grunting, as he began to ease his underwear down. 

The next few minutes were full of sensations old and new; Erik’s own hands on his body doing what Erik had long ago learned he liked best, spiked overall with the sight of Charles’s astonished, astonishing face. The wondering feel of Charles’ telepathy focused so intently on him, his mind pressed up against Erik’s mind, spiced the whole thing with an almost entirely new form of delight. Erik groaned. Charles’ mouth might have been silent, but his mind gasped in pleased surprise along with Erik’s mounting pleasure.

Afterwards, Erik didn’t let himself loll about in the afterglow as he might have done if he were alone. Charles’s eyes were still dark and wide, and his breath was quicker from desire, not fear, but still, Erik wasn’t going to risk spooking him now. They had come so far together, from slave and owner, freedman and rescuer, though the muck and pain Emma had flung them through, and he wasn’t about to waste the journey by pushing too far too soon. So Erik prised himself out of the bed, and padded, naked, to the washbasin, and busied himself cleaning up.

The water was not quite cold, but it certainly was refreshing, to soak a cloth and replace his sweat and the stickiness of his spending with fresh water, and soap. Erik sniffed the soap, and wondered how Jean justified using such fine soap in her renting rooms. This bar alone would cost half the room hire, if Jean hand allowed them to pay her, which she hadn’t. Perhaps she had put the bar in this room just for them.

Charles stared at him or at his arse- Erik couldn’t be sure. Either way he was pleased.  
“I.” Charles said, and started again. “That was. Well.” Erik turned his head and smiled at him, across the basin. The candles gave it a golden tinge.  
“Yes?” Erik said, almost innocently, laying aside the wet cloth and picking up a dry one. Charles’s hands were laced more-or-less primly across his lap. Erik could not be sure, but he rather thought Charles might have drifted quite close to coming himself, watching and listening in on Erik’s own pleasure as closely as he had. Progress, again.

“Thank you.” Charles said, quietly. “I- Thank you.”

Erik abandoned the washcloths and moved back to the bed. He squatted before Charles (never loom over him like this, never, never, never) and, moving slowly, so Charles could back away if he wished kissed him thoroughly. Charles did not back away. He leant forwards, meeting Erik’s advance with one of his own, mouth opening Erik’s like a flower opening to the sun.

Eventually, Erik pulled back, and Charles moved towards him.  
“Did you want to listen to the singing tonight?” Erik said. “I think Jean said the singers were-“  
“Yes, I would. I do.” Charles said, rubbing a finger over his lips, thoughtfully. Erik took a deep breath.  
“We’d best get dressed then.”  
“Time for a glass of wine beforehand?” Charles said hopefully.  
“I should think so.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain goes to what Hank assures him is the most highly regarded House of Pleasure in Genosha.
> 
> Oddly, enough, it doesn't go well.

“I thought you said this was the best brothel in the city!” Cain snarled at his unfortunate assistant, fists clenched in the man’s jacket.  
“They- the sailors said it was the best House of Pleasure-“ Henry McCoy said, waveringly. Cain snorted and half threw the man away from him. He staggered, but didn’t fall.  
“Best means most expensive, I can tell this place ain’t cheap.” He said. “But I can’t see any whores here, can you?” Cain gestured back to the elegant salon they had just left. “Everyone’s fancied up- not a tag in sight!”

“Genosha doesn’t practice slavery, sir.” McCoy said, wearily. “No one here’s a slave- and I expect some of them are courtesans or professional companions, but-  
“Good enough.” Cain interrupted. “When do we get to the fucking?” Henry McCoy sighed.  
“I enquired as to the programme this evening; apparently there are some very famous singers performing-“ Cain sighed “And then people may become available for private entertainments.” Cain grinned.  
“We gotta sit through some singing? How much is the wine?”  
“Free.” Hank said, flatly. “Er- I don’t-“  
“Good enough. Let’s go drink.” Cain headed back into the room he had dragged his secretary out of. Shaking his head, Hank followed.

He couldn’t leave Cain alone here. Not with free wine, and not when he knew some of the people here made themselves available to others for a fee. He wondered if he could warn the people working here about Cain, discreetly. Hank doubted Cain had really taken on board the fact that everyone working in a Genoshan brothel was a free agent. Even for someone who was in it solely for the money, a night with Cain was not enjoyable for the other party. Hank had seen it too many times; whatever his father said, Cain loved partners who could not say no to him. Hank was just lucky that Cain preferred to use his –information- on Hank himself to keep him running his errands and doing Cain’s work for him, to anything else.

Cain was careful not to get too drunk. He was in a strange place, a strange country, and whatever his father thought, he wasn’t completely stupid. Also he knew if he drank beyond a certain point, any money spent on a whore would be wasted. Booze did that to a man. He sipped the wine, and let his gaze range about the place, trying to identify the whores and the customers. The singing was not too bad. Although he preferred a simple decent tune everyone could bellow along to in the bar, Cain had to admit that this fanciful stuff was tolerable. With enough wine.

There were plenty of pretty people about. He nudged his secretary in the ribs.  
“Who’s the red head?” he hissed. One of the singers gave him a dirty look. Cain ignored them.  
“Madame Grey.” He said. “Head of the House.” Cain subsided, disappointed. Head of the House meant she probably only had a select few clients, all richer than Cain, and she’d probably want courting or courtesy or something. Cain just wanted his ashes hauled, tonight. He likely wasn’t going to be here long enough to make picking up a mistress a good idea.

She was very beautiful, though. Not young, but Cain preferred young men and older women, anyway. He watched her move about the room with a little regret. She bent over to talk to two seated men, and while she laughed with the grim-faced one, she gave the blue eyed little beauty on his left a quick, companionable squeeze on the arm and no more. Cain reckoned that made blue eyes an employee, rather than a customer. He had the mouth for it; red and plump and just begging to be filled with what Cain wanted to give him. He had fine, pale skin, the kind that would take bruises beautifully. 

And his eyes were very blue. As blue as Charlie’s had been. But that was long ago, and no way could little Charlie have ended up a whore in Genosha, if they only used the free. He’d been scared about that, about ending in a whore-house, Cain remembered, suddenly. It had seemed pretty funny at the time, before he’d gambled the cash away, instead of saving it to rebuy little Charlie once they’d disinherited him. He wondered where his step brother _had_ ended up. He was probably still alive; he’d always had a kind of cunning about him, even as a kid.

Finally, _finally_ , the singing was done. Cain grunted and stood up, prowling purposefully. Cain looked back at the man. Charlie had been dark haired, too…  
“You can get out now.” He said, sharply. He was surprised at the depth of relief in the other man’s eyes. The singing hadn’t been that bad, had it?  
“Not enough cash to get one of these to take _you_ , anyway.” He said, cheerfully. “Not if they knew what-“  
“I’ll let the housekeeper know you’ll be back late.” Hank said, backing away.

“Might not be back at all, tonight.” Cain said, surveying the field. A bunch of singers swept round the couple he’d been eyeing, and carried off the stern faced man- who had a sword with him, Cain saw, startled. Definitely a customer. No way would they let whores have arms. He flicked a glance at the blue eyed man who reminded him of Charlie. No weapons. Good. He saw his prey standing by the windows, alone, and he moved in.  
“Excuse me, sir.“ A cool voice interrupted him. Irritated, Cain glanced around, and spotted he madam of the house at his elbow. Great. He smiled at her, and saw her eyes widen.

“Hey, you own this place, right? Set the terms and so on?”  
“That’s correct, Sir.” She said, promptly. Cain felt a wave of relaxation. Everything was going his way, at last. The head of the House would know a good client when she saw one.  
“Great. Can you tell me how much that one costs for the night?” He pointed straight at his first choice. She gaped at him. He jingled his coin pouch at her.  
“I’ve got the cash.” He assured her. “I’m new in town- the Westchestrian trade delegation.” He didn’t bother telling her he was the head. She’d only put her rates up, and Cain didn’t have limitless funds to draw on. Nor was he an idiot.

“I _see._ ” The madam said. Cain could see something- greed, likely- flicker in her eyes. “Might I know your name?”  
“Cain. Cain Marko.” He said. Maybe a little loudly; several people were staring. The blue-eyed whore jumped, and started drifting towards them. Cain bit back a grin. He was an eager one, then. Eager for Cain’s cash, at least. He liked it when they started out eager. It made things so much more _fun_ , when they realised Cain wasn’t going to stop ‘til he had his money’s worth and his satisfaction out of them.  
“Cain Marko.” She echoed him, tonelessly. “Can I enquire, the reasons-“

“Oh, him? He looks like he knows what he’s doing.” Cain said, as the man came closer. “And he reminds me of someone I used to know.” He added as her mouth opened again. How much the Genoshan whore reminded Cain of Charlie, he didn’t intend to say. He also didn’t intend to explain that Charlie, before he’d sold him, had been his stepbrother. They weren’t related now, and they’d never been blood, not really, but it would have been weird. Even in Genosha, where they didn’t have slaves, and ate weird food and liked strange singers, it would have been weird.

“Ah, Jean-“ the blue eyed whore said, a little nervously. Cain looked at him. Up close the air of fragility faded out; a pity. The resemblance to lost little Charlie was even more striking up close.  
“Good to meet you.” Cain said. “You free for the night? I reckon I could just about afford you.” He gave the other man an admiring smirk, looking him over from his head to his heels as he put out his hand to be shaken. “Cain Marko.” He added, warmly.  
“Yes.” He said, quietly “I know who you are.” Cain blinked. “Charles is not one of my employees.” Jean said, sharply. Charles gave her a grateful smile.

“You’re freelance? Charles, is it?” Cain said, trying to work out where this sudden sense of unease was coming from. Shit. Maybe this Charles was a customer who’d be insulted by Cain’s assuming he was a whore. “I knew a Charles, once.” He added, quickly.  
“Yes. He was your stepbrother.” Charles said, very quietly. Cain gaped at him.  
“How did you-“ He began to bluster. Stopped. Stared at Charles. A horrible thought rose in him.  
“At least, he was your stepbrother before you sold him.” Jean added, and all the chill of winter was in her tone. Cain froze, under the ice-blue gaze. No. NO, it couldn’t be. He, Cain _could not be_ this unlucky.

“Hello, again, Cain.” Charles Xavier said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janos, Azazel and Hank, the morning after last chapter's drama.

Janos liked the rooftop walks of the Genoshan Palace. There was usually at least a breeze moving already; and ever since his gift had first awoken, he had loved the feel of air sliding over his skin. It meant peace and a chance to relax. A chance to collect himself and his thoughts in private. It meant-  
“Janos! Lord of secretaries! I heard there was a disruption at House Grey last night.” Azazel, Prince of Muscovy, said, expansively. He waved cheerfully at the solitary guard as he trotted over to his secretary, tail waving benevolently. 

Janos heaved a small internal sigh, as he bent the knee to his master. Azazel did not bother with protocol, simply heaving Janos back to his feet before his knees had even touched the floor. He leant forwards, grinning.  
“I am told you, you were actually there, attending to-“  
“The music?” Janos said, with a sigh. “I was there, my lord.” He had been, but he had not spoken about it before. Janos had found the quiet courtesy extended to him by the Queen’s Champion at the reception pleasant. He had decided to return the favour by not adding to the whirling gossip.

However, he owed his Prince loyalty, too. He waited. Should his Prince ask it of him, he would answer. Azazel huffed out an impatient breath.  
“Well?” he said, eventually.  
“Sir?” Janos looked politely interested. Azazel mumbled a curse.   
“Was there a-“  
“The head of the Westchesterian Trade Delegation approached the Queens’ Champion during the interval and offered him money to lie with him, yes.” Janos said, patiently.

He added a few more details, as Azazel’s eyes narrowed. This could mean everything or nothing for Westchester’s political hopes. It depended on when and how the Queen heard of it. And the rest of the nation; Janos knew how popular the young Sword was in his chosen country.  
“And then what happened?” Azazel said, fascinated.   
“Oh, the usual shouting and so on. The Trade Delegate was asked to leave.” Janos said, shrugging.

“But he actually _was_ the Queen’s Champion’s long-lost family?” Az grinned.  
“His stepbrother yes.” Janos said, and then added “Who sold him into slavery, apparently when the Champion was still a child, very dramatically, yes, your highness.” Janos sounded curt. Azazel blinked. Normally he was very fond of- oh. Of course.  
“Neither Genosha nor the Crimson Kingdom condone slavery, Janos. Only Westchester permits it.”  
“And if you did, I would not work for you, my Lord.” Janos said, quietly. 

Just as quietly, Azazel nodded, and gave his secretary a bracing clap on the shoulder. Janos smiled, slightly. His Prince was a sharp man; but a kind one, when he wished. Especially to those who served him loyally and well.  
“But we were to discuss the public audience.” He added, pointedly. His master took the hint.  
“Ah, yes.” Azazel said, dreamily. “She is possessed of a beauty- of a Gift- that strikes me to the heart.” He clasped his hands to vaguely the right area.

“She is the Queen. All House Darkholme possess that gift.” Janos said, dryly. “And my reports say she is not another of your foolish women. She won’t be excited by your rank. My lord.” Azazel smiled at him, still charmed.  
“Her brains strike me to the heart also.” He explained. “She was… incredible. A gem among women, a pearl among powers.”   
“You poetry grows worse, m’lord.” Janos rolled his eyes again.

“But not my looks.” Azazel said, serenely. Janos snorted. But, Azazel thought; the Queen of Genosha was indeed an incredible woman. She had handled the courtiers, the Ambassadors and the delegates with grace and skill. No one had been ignored, no one had been indulged. And she had remained poised and charming, as if it was no more than a meeting among friends. Truly, she would be as magnificent an enemy as she could be a treasure among allies. It might be challenging, but- Azazel smiled to himself- it was well known he loved a challenge.

“We could work with her.” He said aloud. “She is no shallow soul or petty creature.”  
“Is that what they call it here?” Janos mused, shuffling through papers. “Work?” He clicked his teeth. Azazel laughed.  
“You know what I mean.”  
“Yes, Highness.”  
“We cannot have a full marriage; unless she works with us.”  
“And we with her.” Janos said. “Raven’s full Queen in her own right.” He tapped his nails against his teeth.

“She’s not like to give that up for one man.” Azazel said, slightly sadly. “Not even one as handsome and charming as I.” He mourned, slightly sadly.  
“Do you now cease to love challenges, Highness?” Janos said, lightly. Azazel frowned at him.   
“I will never cease to love a challenge.”  
“ Nor are you likely to give up your claim to your father’s throne.” Janos pointed out. “Even if he does have other sons. She must know that.”

A young man wandered into view. Janos tensed, until he recognised him The young man was pale and seemed weary. He was also limping.   
“Who is that?” Azazel said, sharply. “He was fascinated by the Queen- I saw him gape at her.” Janos looked.  
“Henry McCoy.” He said, after a thoughtful moment. Azazel made a face at him. “Cain Marko’s assistant; although I think him more the capable of the two.”  
“I believe we have known small children more capable, you and I.” Azazel snorted.”

Janos smiled, tucking his hands into his sleeves.  
“A shame he was not so capable as to keep his master out of trouble last night.” Azazel murmured.  
“Speak fairly, now- I believe he understands most languages- how was he to prevent such an event?” Janos said, quietly. McCoy looked at them, and, clearly recognising Azazel bowed, but made no attempt at approaching.

“Good morning!” Azazel called, cheerfully, in Westchestrian. “Do you walk for your health or for your thoughts?” He strolled over to the younger man, who was clearly somewhat startled by the attention.  
“I- Good morning, your Highness- sir” McCoy said, with a head bob acknowledging Janos. Janos nodded in reply, mildly amused at Mcoy’s flustered state.  
“Well?” Azazel said. “Health or thoughts?”  
“Uh-“ The Westchesterian appeared to stumble over his tongue.  
“If you walk with your thoughts as company,” Janos said, softly “We will trouble you no further.”  
“Oh, I don’t mean to be discourteous-“ Hank flushed, deeply.

“And if you walk for your health.” Azazel said, also amused “We will join you.” He smiled, widely. Many people were unaccustomed to the contrast of colours between his teeth and his skin; and their reactions were sometimes funny. McCoy scarcely blinked, which raised him in the Princes’ estimation somewhat.  
“I would be honoured.” McCoy said, after a pause. He made to bow again, but Azazel raised his hand.  
“Please. We are all diplomats here. We need not be _formal_ diplomats, though?” he said, coaxingly.

 

Reluctantly, McCoy smiled.  
“The Prince my master is not fond of formality. Is yours?” Janos said, sweetly. Henry McCoy did not bat an eyelid at the buried insult; referring to any Westchestrian man as one’s master was not far short of implying the man was a slave.  
“Lord Marco is not fond of formality, no. Only- deference.” He said, slightly jerkily. His shoulders hunched, slightly. Azazel’s eyebrows went up.

“Ah.” He said, blandly. “I must admit, I would like to become fond of deference.” Janos smiled. MCoy looked blank. Painfully so.  
“I see so little of it.” Azazel sighs, mock sadly. McCoy barely blinks.  
“He claims he does not receive enough of it.” Janos said. “I say he receives what is due him. If not more.” There’s an odd little pause, and then McCoy does smile, a little.   
“Having only just met you, you Highness.” He says “I cannot comment.”  
“No?” Azazel said, teasingly.  
“I believe there are many wise souls who would advise against too hasty a judgement.” 

“Are then you fond of reading other’s wisdom, rather than creating your own?” Janos inquired, a little tartly.  
“Ah, well- I’d have to be wiser, firstly so as to be able create anything, and secondly-“ Henry broke off, and shrugged, wryly. Janos blinked.  
“I am _very_ wise.” Azazel said, brightly. “But even I do not understand some writings. Take Lord Stark’s latest treatise on engineering.” McCoy brightened immediately.  
“I found that very interesting indeed, you Highness. Which-“  
“He failed to grasp most of it.” Janos said, blandly.

“The pumps for raising and lowering of water levels – the calculations were a little beyond me.” Azazel admitted, reluctantly.  
“Oh, can I help?” McCoy said, happily. “At one time I enjoyed a correspondence with Lord Stark-“  
“That would be most kind.” Azazel purrs. He wrapped his tail around Henry’s wrist and tugged the other man alongside him. “Let us walk as we talk.”  
Janos concealed his amusement, and paid close attention as the mathematics lesson began.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen's Council of- well, Charles would like it not to be war against Cain Marko.
> 
>  
> 
> hahahaha.

The Queen of Genosha was not happy. The sun poured in through the small windows, forming hatched patterns on the stone floor of the chamber and striking sparks from floating dust motes. Raven pushed her chair back sharply and rose to pace around the room. Automatically, Moira, Erik and Charles began to stand; she waved them back to their seats impatiently. Pacing was a habit with her, during her confidential sessions with her Swords, but her hand clenching and the muttering under her breath were not. The silvery skirts of her dress swirled out like water as she spun back to the small group still seated at the table.

“Could you repeat that, please?” Raven said; dangerously quietly. Charles looked apologetic. He tugged at the delicate lace of his shirt cuffs nervously.  
“The trade delegate from Westchester is Cain Marko.” He said, again. “He- he used to be my stepbrother.” Raven’s mouth thinned, but she said nothing. Erik scowled.  
“That’s the man that sold you.” Moira said, flatly. Charles nodded. Moira’s hands curled into fists.  
“The King of Westchester sent the man who sold my Champion, to negotiate with my Council over _trade_?” Raven said, still quietly. “They _dared_ -“  
“Ah, to be fair to them; I suspect that it’s not widely known.” Charles said. Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Raven said, again.  
“Not a lot of people in Westchester know how I was, um, disinherited. I was thirteen.” Charles said. The others grouped around the end of the long oak table did not look any happier at that piece of information. Charles hurried into his exclamation. “Most of them simply won’t connect Cain’s long ago enslavement of his step brother with a man of the same name currently serving as Queen’s Champion here in Genosha.”  
“They’re that stupid? The King is that ignorant?” Raven said, angrily. Charles swallowed, and Erik felt himself tense. He looked a warning at his Queen, but Raven ploughed on.  
“Damnit, Charles, it was across Genosha and half way round the world before the sun set on the day you made oath to me! Prince Azazel talked about your “Fabulous career” in the public audience!” 

Charles bowed his head.  
“Yes but- in Westchester, the status of _slave_ can never be altered or escaped. Never undone. So a free man- as I am- cannot ever have been a slave.” He said, to the polished surface of the table. He looked up with a slight smile. “And a slave trying to pass as a freeperson is subject to some, um, quite terrible consequences, if caught- as is anyone who helps them.”  
“Really?” Moira said. “And if they’re not interested in helping someone in need?”  
“An escaped slave, or someone trying to pass as a free person is treated as abandoned chattel.” Charles said, neutrally. “Fair game for whoever gets there first.”

Charles breathed in, before continuing.  
“So, of course, the Queen’s Champion of Genosha would not be thought of in the same breath as Cain Marko’s dirty little past.” Moira winced.  
“If it weren’t for the fact that I’m a Genoshan citizen now, any Westchestrian could attempt to seize me and sell me at open market once we were back on Westchestrian soil.” Charles said, calmly. Raven was still frowning thunderously.  
“Well, it won’t incline my heart to him or his cause any.” She said, curtly.  
“I did say, attempt.” Charles smiled. “I doubt any would succeed.” He added, looking down at the sword that hung at his hip.

“They wouldn’t survive the attempt.” Erik said, firmly. Moira nodded her agreement.  
“You don’t have to make the debate or decisions by yourself, majesty.” Charles said. “The Council are meeting with representatives of the Genoshan guilds-“  
“If you don’t think they will have the same problems as our own dear Queen, in listening to Cain’s arguments objectively, you’ve another think coming.” Erik said, feeling a thin thread of amusement. Charles blinked at him, clearly startled. Erik blinked back. Charles was a telepath. Surely he knew how well he was regarded, in his adopted country?

“Yes, most of them like you too.” Moira said, helpfully. “You rescued more than Erik when you stopped Shaw; and they know it.” Charles went faintly pink. Erik stopped scowling.  
“You know you are popular, Queen’s champion.” Erik said, grinning. Charles went pinker. “I still don’t know why you didn’t let me punch him.” Erik said, smile fading. “He took you for a-“  
“He offered you insult in Our territory.” Raven said. “I’m in favour of incarceration and some unpleasantness during detention of the kind I usually try and reduce, myself.”

“Offering someone money to sleep with them whilst you’re both in a House of Pleasure can’t really be taken as an insult, I think.” Moira said, almost apologetically. Charles shot her a grateful look. “Madame Grey would have called him out for it, then, if so.” Moira added, thoughtfully.   
“I.” Charles said, flabbergasted. “Look, everyone needs to _calm down._ ” he added, slightly desperately. “Please.”

“Why?” Erik demanded. “He did a terrible thing- several, in fact- to you, why _should_ we be calm?”  
“Because it happened to _me_ and _I_ want to be calm about it?” Charles said, sharply. “It happened over fifteen years ago, and I’m not a slave anymore.” Raven smiled approvingly at Charles’s ringing declaration of freedom. “That part of my life _is over_.” Charles said, forcefully. “And because I will be _damned_ if Cain gets to muck up anything else of mine, let alone the trade negotiations between two sovereign nations!”

There was a pause. Charles breathed in, and tried to be calm.

“Point.” Erik said. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry.” Charles said. He clasped his hands together on the table, and fought for some composure. “I- that was-“   
“Perfectly understandable.” Raven said, firmly. She leant over and put her right hand over both of Charles’s white-knuckled ones, gently.  
“You remind me of my duties to crown and people.” She said, clearly and calmly. “I won’t disrupt the talks over things in the past, but if he starts causing trouble for you, Charles-“  
“He won’t.” Erik said, gripping the back of Charles neck affectionately. “Do it for long.” Charles leaned in towards Erik’s protective presence, almost unconsciously.

“Erik.” Raven said. “I’m warning you; we would want to move against Cain Marko _legally._ ”   
“Why?” Moira said, puzzled. “He doesn’t deserve-“ She was interrupted by her Queen.  
“Because when it comes to vengeance-“ Raven caught Charles’ eye and coughed- “I mean, justice, for Charles, well. I had _better_ be allowed to be part of it.” She grinned. “That’s all.”  
“But-“ Charles said.  
“That’s the best you’re going to get from me, my Champion.” Raven said, formally. “Because, well, who looks after the Queen’s Champion, apart from the Queen?”

“Around here?” Moira said, amused, as Charles went redder.  
“We all do.” Erik said, fiercely.   
“I see…” Charles murmured; eyes bright even as he smiled. Erik abandoned protocol long enough to haul Charles into his side for a swift one armed hug. Charles smiled.  
“I thought- Cain is likely to be, um, unpleasant to serving staff; anyone who he perceives as unimportant or in a role that a slave would do in Westchester.” Charles said, smile fading. “At least, he always was.”

“Bet he hasn’t changed.” Moira said. “I’ll inform the staff of the situation.” She nooded to herself, and made a note in her journal.  
“Moira…” Charles said, worriedly “I really don’t want anyone hurt.”  
“We’ll make sure any servants know there’s a palace guard within earshot- and warn the guards themselves to be extra alert.” Moira said, neutrally.  
“Will that be enough?” Raven said.  
“We don’t want to offer him insult or an excuse to say he’s been insulted.” Moira said. “I’ll tell Logan to be-“

“You’re going to tell Logan-!” Charles yelped. Erik chuckled softly. Charles paused, momentarily distracted by the vibrations. “Moira, really-“  
“He’s head of the Palace Guard.” Moira said, smoothly, a hint of a smile in her voice. “Who else would I tell?”  
“If you like, Charles, I can tell him not make sure no one kills Cain.” Raven said, cheerfully.  
“But…” Charles said, stunned “But…”  
“Logan is perfectly capable of being diplomatic.” Erik said. Charles gave him a dubious look.

“Charles.” Raven said, voice very gentle. “Cain Marko hurt you. Very badly. He was your brother and he betrayed you into slavery.” Charles nodded, tightly. “Now, because he’s head of the Trade Delegation from Westchester, and you asked, we’re all going to treat him as a representative of his nation, rather than a sadistic greedy bastard, as far as the negations go.” Raven’s voice stayed quiet, but became far from gentle.  
“Which is why he’s not been arrested yet.” Moira said. “Or maimed.”  
“But he puts one toe out of line…” Erik said, ominously  
“And he’ll lose it.” Raven said, brightly. 

Charles opened his mouth.

“Stop fighting it, Charles, I told you; you aren’t alone anymore.” Erik said, tucking Charles’s head under his chin. Moira and Raven beamed at each other.

Charles closed his mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain is an asshole, Hank endures, Alex sticks an oar in.

A thunderous crash echoed through the suite of rooms allocated to the Westchester Trade delegation. Hank flinched automatically, at the sound of the banging door. He stuffed his notebook in his pocket and started moving towards the other door, cautiously.   
“Fuckin’ _pickpockets!”_ Cain appeared in the doorway, raging. Too late. Hank sighed, and resigned himself to calming his… employer down. Again.  
“Is there a problem, sir?” he said, cautiously. Cain stared at him for a long, incredulous moment.  
“Third time since we got here, someone’s cut my purse!” he said, angrily. “You didn’t warn me Genoshans were such thieving bastards.”

“Well, crime rates here are significantly lower than-“ Hank tried to soothe Cain.  
“Shut up.” Cain snarled, and padded across to the side table. “We’re out of wine. Again.” He shook the empty flagon at Hank meaningfully.  
“No, there’s some in the other room.” Hank murmured. His past experience of Cain in a temper like this told him not to claim it as his, specifically. Cain muttered and stamped off in search of alcohol. Hank turned back to his papers.  
“Well?” Cain reappeared in the doorway, swigging from the neck of the bottle. Hank decided not to tell him what the wine had been adulterated with by the Genoshan servants. 

Wine was used to clean wounds; it would not harbour disease, whatever body fluids it had been mixed with. Hank’s silence was not merely out of petty spite but also out of self preservation. Cain was getting dangerously close to a meltdown, and there weren’t many people around he could safely vent his temper on, apart from Hank. So far, Cain’s sense of self preservation had kept from deliberately incapacitating his secretary, but Hank wasn’t sure how much further that would last. Also, he’d never told Cain much about his Gift- if Gift it truly was- and he had no intention of telling him how sharp his senses were. 

“Sir?” Hank said, politely. Cain threw the flagon at his head. Hank ducked, wildly. Cain barked a sharp laugh as the delicate glass vessel crashed to the floor, showering Hank with sharp splinters. The last few drops splashed out onto the stone floor; Hank found himself distantly pleased that they had no rugs to worry about, now. He could mop this up easily.  
“What’s the news from home?” Cain said, through clenched teeth. “Seeing as how no one from around here seems to want to talk to me.”  
“Your father sent you a sealed letter; I’ve not opened it.” Hank said, briskly. “Your tailor sends you a second bill-“  
“Put it on the fire.” Cain snarled.

“And the head of the Guild-“ Hank started to settle into lecture mode before being interrupted.  
“You’ve read everything but the sealed ones?” Cain said, abruptly. He dropped into a chair and stared at the empty, dusty fireplace.  
“Yes, Sir.” Hank said, calmly.  
“Oh, burn them, file them- I don’t care. You’ll tell me what I need to know, right?”  
“But-“  
“ _Right?_ Cain said, meaningfully. Hank subsided.  
“Of course, sir.”

Cain grinned. “Knew investing in you would pay out. You’re almost as smart as-“ he winked. “Well. _you_ know.” Hank said nothing. Here in Genosha, Cain’s clumsy hints and threats were a little less frightening than when he decided to remind Hank just how much he was in Cain’s power back h- back in Westchester. Odd, really. Especially since the person he was trying to protect through all of this was still in Westchester. Neither he nor his mother were any safer for being apart.  
“I swear this whole town gives me the creeps.” Cain grumbled. Hank knelt and began picking up the larger pieces of glass.

“Not a single friendly face in sight.” Cain said. “Bad servants, bad food- and the nobles are _worse._ ”  
“I’ve experienced little trouble.” Hank said, to the floor.  
“You’ve no spine; hell half the time I bet you don’t even recognise an insult when it’s aimed at you.” Cain said, mildly. Hank clenched his teeth. “Charles was like that.” Cain said, thoughtfully. Carefully, Hank said nothing. He hadn’t known about the shadow hanging over the Markos’ reputation when he’d been approached by Kurt. Sometimes he liked to think if he had, he would not have let his circumstances force him into taking the job as secretary, babysitter and dogsbody to the Marko heir.

“He was always scrawny; sulky and quiet. No fight in him.” Cain went on. He shrugged. “Didn’t think I’d see him again.” Hank stood and moved a few steps towards his room.  
“Hey. Where do you think _you’re_ going?” Cain snapped.  
“For a cloth; the glass...” Hank stood still, awkwardly. Cain waved him away.  
“You’d think he’d let bygones be bygones.” Cain said to himself, resentfully. “Never have made anything of himself without it.” Cain muttered.

Hank, in the other room, stopped and stared at the door disbelievingly. Cain was always liable to insist on an interpretation of events that benefited or justified his choices the most but this was a little much, even for him. Cain had sold his thirteen year old step brother. He had profited from condemning his own family to Hell; and then whined about the problems that had caused his family reputation. Hank had not yet spoken to Charles Xavier, but knowing the man had survived and escaped slavery gave Hank hope. The Queen’s Champion was a kind, courteous man, from all reports, and he was no fool, either.

The way that the trade delegation was being treated was a good example of that. Hank felt the subtle campaign of unwelcome that was very clearly being aimed at Cain Marko really only had two faults. One was Hank tended to be caught in the crossfire- his food was also contaminated, he also suffered from the deliberate poor service; and he had to bear the brunt of Cain’s temper. The other was that the campaign was, well, subtle. Cain was not, as Hank knew to his personal cost, a subtle man, and he tended to miss anything Hank did not point out to him. As yet, Hank had not dared risk further explosions of wrath by pointing out that the bad food, the rudeness, the refusal of most nobles to meet or even talk to the Westchesterians was deliberate and personal.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” Hank flinched back automatically at the growled question, before looking up to see a dark haired youth bristling in front of him with his arms crossed.  
“Oh- I’m sorry. I’m-“  
“I know who you are, Westchester.” The young man snapped. “I asked where-“  
“There was a slight accident; I’m cleaning up.” Hank said, neutrally. “I just need to find some cloths and water.” The younger man smirked. “What’s your name?” Hank said, half-hopelessly.  
“Alex. Alex Summers.” The dark haired man did not uncross his arms or move from his place blocking Hank from the rest of the corridor.

“Well, do you know where I could find water and-“  
“You could just ask the chambermaid-“ Alex said, still aggressively. Hank sighed.  
“Not when Lord Marko is in his current mood.” He said, blandly.  
“He doesn’t want company?” Alex said, curiously. “Why’d he-“  
“I don’t think the company would want him, let’s say.” Hank said. Surprisingly, Alex’s mouth curled up into a smile.  
“Fair enough. I’ll show you.” He turned to go. Hopefully, Hank followed him.

“So, what’s in it for you?” Alex said abruptly, after a few minutes walking in silence.  
“I’m sorry?”  
“Why d’you work for an asshole like Marko?” Alex said, curiously. Hank bit his lip. “Money?” Alex mused, aloud. “Fame? It can’t be girls, you-“  
“Excuse me.” Hank said, steadily. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”   
“I know I wouldn’t work for a man who sold Ch- his brother!” Alex shot back.  
“And I know I have family responsibilities of my _own_. It’s nice you think I might have chosen this.” Hank said, and stopped, sharply. Too close to the truth, there.

“Hey- Genosha doesn’t do slavery.” Alex said, brightly. “Just Westchester. I know a place that cuts off tags-“  
“I’m a freeman!” Hank said, harshly. He didn’t mention family responsibilities this time. Alex frowned.   
“Sure sound like one to me.” He gestured at a door, abruptly. “Sluice and water’s in there. And- you’re bleeding!” Hank looked at his hands. So he was. He should have noticed that sooner. But he’d been distracted.  
“It’s not serious.” Hank said, after a moment’s self examination. He’d had some medical training, after all.

“Slight accident?” Alex said, unsympathetically.  
“Glass. Could have been worse.” Hank said.   
“Worse than picking up glass?” Alex said, eyeing the blood with disfavour.  
“He could have actually hit what he aimed at.” Hank said, calmly. “Which was my head.” Alex gaped.  
“That’s- look, I’ve got some salve-“  
“It’ll heal.” He wasn’t about to risk his hands to any ignorant Genoshan’s idea of a funny joke. “Thanks for the directions.” Hank shrugged, dismissively and headed into the sluice room. 

He told himself he didn’t care if Alex followed him or not.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Charles spar. 
> 
> And talk. And over-use the word "Dick"

“You’ve been _practising_ ” Logan said, almost accusingly. Charles put up his sword and laughed, breathlessly. It was a beautiful spring morning on the training grounds; brightly sunny but not yet too hot for comfort.  
“Part of the job.” He said, keeping a steady eye on Logan’s hands and shoulders as they paused in their sparring. Logan grunted in approval and moved forwards again. Charles balanced on the balls of his feet, stance firm, ready to- Logan struck. Charles’ parry was a little wild, but clearly Logan found it acceptable, as he allowed his sword to be blocked by it.

“Kinda surprised your honey isn’t here.” Logan said, after a moment.  
“He wanted to be.” Charles said, panting slightly. “Bu-hut I said I had to- hey!” Logan dropped his shield, spun sharply and cut at Charles with the claws of his left hand.  
“Learn.” Charles said, taking the claw strike on his shield. “I had to learn to defend myself.” Logan grinned and did not apologise for the unorthodox move. Maybe no one else in the world had claws, but plenty of people used two blades.  
“Smart boy.” He said, cheerfully, and attacked again. 

After that, things got a little busy. They were using live steel; firstly because Logan swore by training with the real thing when it was possible, and secondly because he’d rather graphically demonstrated how unlikely it was Charles would actually manage to hurt him.  
“Not gonna lay a blow on me for the first year.” he’d bragged. Charles had raised an unhappy eyebrow. “And besides, it won’t ever _take_.” Logan had then helpfully stabbed himself in the face, by way of demonstration. The scar had been undetectable within the hour.

“So, Charles.” Logan said, He scarcely seemed to be out of breath. “Seems like your step brother’s a dick.”  
“He’s not my stepbrother.” Charles said, tightly, keeping his guard up. Eyes narrow, Logan shifted his grip on his sword. Charles sighed.   
“When a free person is exposed in the public market and sold, they become chattel.” Charles swallowed. “Cain’s not my stepbrother because chattels have no legal family ties or obligations or-or-“  
“Got it.” Logan said. “You’re not denying he’s’ a dick.” Charles shook his head. Logan nodded to himself. “Keep your shoulder down, don’t lift like that.” He added after a moment.

“Have- is everyone alright?” Charles said. “I- the staff-“ Logan grinned, wolfishly.  
“Everyone’s fine.” He feinted with his sword and watched Charles jump to evade it. “He hasn’t caught on to anything yet.”  
“Caught on to _what_?” Charles said, side stepping. Logan wheeled to face him.  
“Uh- the staff?” he said. Charles looked blank. “I kinda think Alex was behind the start of it; but the dick’s not exactly made it hard to do.”  
“Logan.” Charles said, tightly. His hand clenched on his shield grip more tightly.  
“It’s nothing major.” Logan said, mildly. He raised his sword again.

“But I don’t think he’s eaten or drunk anything someone hasn’t at least spat in, since the night at Madame Grey’s place.” Charles stared at him. Logan shrugged. Charles’s sword wavered, slightly.   
“You’d think that secretary of his would tip him off. He’s spotted… stuff, I’ve seen it.” Logan mused. “Guess Cain’s just all dick all the time.” Charles stepped forwards. Logan didn’t shift in response. Charles tried to imagine it; Cain unknowingly swallowing spit, drinking wine-and-piss cocktails, and enduring deliberately bad service from chambermaids, porters, guards. 

A corner of his mouth curled up, all by itself. Of course it was all somewhat undignified, and unhygienic, not to mention dangerous for the staff- but, of course, they’d never seen Cain in a full rage, and probably wouldn’t see how dangerous the big clumsy man could be. Still. The pettiness of his friends’ actions didn’t diminish the warmth he felt right now.  
“I ought to feel bad about that.” Charles said, balancing lightly and watching, watching Logan’s eyes and hands. “But I don’t.” He smiled, crookedly. Logan grinned back at him.

“Can’t think why you.” Lethally fast, Logan struck. “Should feel bad, Xavier. He’s a dick.” Charles parried, and stepped back. The sweat was building up inside his boiled leather armour. He swiped his forearm across his face.  
“I just- I want my past to be _over_ Logan. I don’t want to waste time hating him, or fearing him, or even thinking about him.” Charles said, and parried again. “I- I’m not that scared child, I’m not the slave- I’m here, I’m safe-“ His foot slipped. 

Charles staggered, trying to regain his footing and evade Logan’s next strike. The ground was a little damp from the dew, and he couldn’t quite stabilise himself in time. Charles let his shield fall, and shortly after, he ended up flat on his back, Logan’s sword-tip at his throat. Logan grinned. Charles used his left hand to make an obscene gesture that also indicated his acceptance of defeat.  
“Yeah?” Logan said, quietly. “You want it to be over?” Charles closed his eyes. Nodded. “Huh.” Logan said. He sheathed his sword, laid down his shield, and stretched a hand out to Charles. 

“We could always just kill him.” Logan suggested, as he hauled Charles to his feet.  
“How does that make it over?” Charles said, staring, as he sheathed his sword. He bent to collect his shield and groaned in pain as his spine protested the curve. His last fall had clearly done something to his back. Well, occupational hazard. And Logan was effectively immortal, so Erik wouldn’t be able to kill him, as he seemed to want to do to any of his sparring partners who managed to bruise Charles. It was probably one of the reasons that Logan was one of the few who did feel comfortable crossing blades with the Queen’s Champion. That, and the fact that he had a lot of resistance to unconscious telepathy.

“Dead diplomats tell no tales.” Logan said, cheerfully. “We poison him; we get the Lady to write a nice note sayin’ how sorry we all are he died of fever, they send us a new one, life goes on.” Charles shook his head. If only it could be that simple. But Westchester would probably suspect things, at least.  
“Killing Cain won’t bring me peace.” Charles tried to smile. From the look on Logan’s face, he didn’t succeed.  
“Reckon that might be worth testing.’” Logan said, dryly. Charles shook his head, wordlessly. 

Logan looked at Charles for a long, long moment. Charles tried not to fidget under that steady gaze. What did Logan see, when he looked at Charles?  
“Come on.” Logan said, abruptly. “We’ll skip the hand to hand, for once.” Charles breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he was not the best at unarmed combat. Skin on skin conflict was still hard, even if it was simply fists and a friend. Charles found it difficult to go against a lifetime of instincts that said striking out at another was forbidden and liable to bring painful consequences. At least with sword and shield he had space between himself and his attacker, space and tools. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see you flinching. Steam bath’s best for your back, if you’ve strained it.” Logan said, carefully.  
“Ah-“ Charles faltered. It was the standard thing to do after a sparring match. But the public baths, even the ones just for the Swords, were- difficult, for him, still. He gave Logan an apologetic smile, and searched for an excuse, or an apology. Logan narrowed his eyes and said, softly.  
“Don’t think I missed that flinch, either, bub.” He stepped back, giving Charles space and gave a lazy wave to the spectators who had drifted up to lean on the fences surrounding the training grounds.

“Ah-“ Charles faltered, again, and then squared his shoulders. He wanted the past to be over; to be here, now, didn’t he? Perhaps the steam baths were somewhere to start. And besises, his back was hurting rather sharply, now.  
“I can’t stay long- the Queen has invited the Prince of Muscovy to a stroll in the flower gardens. To inspect the new blooms.” Logan laughed, approvingly, and clapped a hand to Charles’s shoulder, lightly.

The gesture felt comfortable, heartening. Charles blinked. For all his coarse mannerisms, Logan was by far the smartest person in the circle of those who served and protected the Queen. No doubt about it.  
“That’s the spirit.” Logan said, cheerfully. More quietly he said “Let’s see what we can do to kill what that bastard did to your head, anyway.”   
“He never… really touched me.” Charles said, and turned to walk in the direction of the bathhouses.

“They don’t have to touch you, for it to hurt, bub.” Logan said; wise old eyes kind under their sharpness. “Take it from me, I know. “ Charles nodded. He would.  
“An’ anyway, I’m blaming Cain the Dick for everything that hurt you, ‘fore Erik found you.” Logan grumbled.  
“Actually, it was Sean-“ Charles said, and his smile was closer to real, now.  
“Not interested in the details.” Logan said, utterly untruthfully. “Come on, steam’s waiting.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in the gardens for Hank, Azazel and Raven.
> 
> No explosions. But perhaps some chemistry. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not apologising for that pun.
> 
> Sorry.

The walled flower gardens of the main royal Palace in Genosha were almost legendary. High walls and, in some cases, glass protected the rarest and most delicate plants. The most exotic fruits could be tasted there, and the wildest blooms seen, if not picked. Raven had loved them since the head gardener had been chasing her away from the grape and lemon houses as a tiny, curious child. Her father had also loved them. The relatively mundane arts of gardening had been a fascination for many of her House; ever since the first Darkholme ancestor had first ordered rough ground levelled and cleared beside the Palace.

That royal ancestor had had other things to think about than fountains or glass houses, of course, but as time went on and Genosha grew in independent strength and wealth, later Darkholmes had done much to improve what he’d begun. It was a beautiful place for open air meets, whether the traditional clandestine kind favoured by authors Raven no longer had that much time to read, or the more open and public meetings such as this viewing of the early season flowers so many of the Court had either been invited to or had assumed they were.

Raven smiled at Prince Azazel. There was no denying, he was a handsome devil; even if they both knew their delicate flirtations were only an elaborate game. He could not let his love for her- if he currently had any such feelings, which she doubted- or even his desire (and that he _definitely_ had, oh yes) carry him away from his duties to his homeland and throne, any more than she could let hers carry her away from Genosha.  
Still, she thought, as he carefully offered her a bloom he claimed to have jumped to the heart of his father’s Crimson Kingdom to bring her, it was a pleasant game. 

The afternoon was brightly sunny, but not yet too hot; and the walls of the flower garden kept the worst of the breezes from disturbing the clothes and hair of her courtiers attending them. Raven herself never had such troubles; at least not when she was wearing herself, rather than actual clothes. It felt faintly scandalous. Even though she appeared fully clothed, she was not, and when Azazel laid a hand on her sleeve, he was- even if he did not know it- touching her skin.  
“The flower must hang it’s head in shame.” Azazel said, sadly. “For it knows it is surpassed.”  
“It is perfect.” Raven said, as she gazed at the brilliant, crimson rose. “Genosha has few such beautiful roses.”

“No flower could hope to match your beauty.” Azazel said, soulfully, and looked mildly taken aback when she laughed. He smiled when she smiled, though, so Raven felt the laugh had not been too sharp a rebuff.   
“Perhaps that was a trite line.” He admitted, a little ruefully. “But I’ve always wanted to use it.” She smiled, and touched the flower to her lips, thoughtfully.   
“I don’t think you could accuse the flower’s perfume of less than perfection.” She said, teasingly. Azazel’s eyes darkened and his smile broadened.

“In any case, it is a beautiful thing.” Raven said, simply.  
“I thank you.” He bowed. “Do you wish more? I can fill your arms, your lap with flowers from Muscovy.” Raven quirked an eyebrow.  
“Truly.” Azazel said. “I begged leave of the gardeners. They said yes- reports of yhour beauty have reached so far abroad as-”   
“The gardeners?” Raven blurted. Azazel shivered, extravagantly.  
“Terrible and strange men; I assure you.”  
“But they said you could just – just jump back anytime?”

“I can jump anywhere in this wide world.” Azazel said, calmly, without boasting. “And transport others, also. Instantly.” He jumped, then, dramatically, from one side of the garden to another, and back again. Some of the younger, more excitable courtiers squealed at the sudden vanishing of the Prince and the drifting smoke he left behind.   
“Yet you came to Genosha by boat.” Raven said, quietly, ignoring the implicit invitation. Azazel grinned wryly.  
“I can’t move a whole boat, no.”

Hank, like the rest of the courtiers gathered, listened with one ear to the Queen and Prince’s flirting and used the other to listen to each other. Cain fumed at his side like a lurking volcano; and Hank had to repress a shiver. Their delegation was meeting with no success, and sooner or later Cain was going to have to face up to that. Most of the lack of success was down to Cain’s presence- not that Hank could exactly blame the Genoshans for disliking or distrusting the man; even before they factored in the fact that’s he’d done something terrible to the man who was currently the Queen’s Champion, back when they’d been step-brothers.

He took a discreet sidestep when Cain swigged out of his hip flask again. The man was drinking far more now. Hank knew the perilous state of his master’s finances, and wasn’t entirely surprised that he’d resorted to alcohol. Cain had had his purse cut, lifted, lost and taken from him forcibly to the point where he was clearly thinking about taking the pitiful amount he allowed Hank himself to keep from the salary Kurt Marko paid him. Hank was glad he’d sewn most of it into his jacket. Cain would never think to look for it there. 

He’d started gambling, too; although at least so far he was not losing. Much.

“Might want to move a mite further than that, lad.” Lord Wisdom said to him, softly. Hank looked at him, unable to nod. Peter Wisdom seemed to pick up on it anyway, because he smiled, fiercely and strolled a few more steps. Hank followed him, and breathed a little easier.  
“So.” Lord Wisdom said, as they move out of earshot. “You like flowers?”  
“Oh, the Gensohan walled gardens are marvels of selection and breeding.” Hank said, enthusiastically. Wisdom eyed him oddly. “I mean, the length of time the process has been going on- there’s much other nations can learn, I’m sure.”

“You think Genosha can teach Westchester a thing or two?” Lord Wisdom said.  
Hank smiled, wryly.   
“I think we can all learn from each other, mostly, but with flowers- horticulture in general, the tradition in Genosha really-“  
“My home country has long gardening traditions also.” Prince Azazel said, over Hank’s shoulder. Hank jumped.  
“Along with an exceptionally strong anti-slavery tradition.” The Queen said. Azazel shrugged, flamboyantly, and Hank jumped again. He blushed, and began frantically racking his brains for a way to discreetly extract himself before Cain noticed his secretary was doing better, socially speaking than he was.

Hank could not bring himself to praise the institution of slavery as it was practiced in Westchester; even if it had been something that would have benefitted the situation. Neither could he criticise it, not when he was- through the damn Trade Delegation- a representative of Westchester.   
“Westchester does not have the varieties of plants and flowers Genosha has.” He said, in the end. “Knowledge sharing of that kind is one of the reasons we’re here, isn’t it?” Hank breathed in. “Your majesty?” Azazel looked thoughtful.

“Another thing I fear Westchester could do with learning about.” Raven said, with a friendly smile. “Or am I wrong in thinking that the Craft Guilds there all absolutely forbid the use of slaves in the manufacturing their- warranted goods?”  
“Those are mostly not traded out of the country.” Hank admitted, nodding his head. “I think it’s mostly to do with preserving craft arts and secrets- slaves could be purchased by anyone, if the craft master has to sell them, later.” Raven nodded.  
“Yet these slave produced goods are the ones I’m asked to make my Council accept a lower import fee on; so they can be sold as if made by masters.”

Hank gaped at her.  
“Ah…” he said, carefully, frantically racking his brains as he switched from small talk to trade talk. “The profit margins are very slight;” Azazel snorted. “The import fees raise the price of the goods beyond what’s profitable- those who employ slaves must see to their feeding and-“ Hank shut up, abruptly. He could see some of the people around them were Swords; and he was pretty sure none of them would let him live if he talked about the difficulties of slave ownership in the presence of their chief; even if the Queen’s Champion was safely out of earshot, dabbling his fingers in the fountain and smiling at a sharp-boned man Hank found vaguely familiar.

Azazel snorted softly, contemptuously. Hank gulped, and felt himself slowly turn almost as red as the Prince from Muscovy. He looked away. After an awkward pause, Raven tapped him on the shoulder. Hank met her eyes, and was surprised to find a kindness there he was fairly certain he didn’t deserve.  
“Well, you sounded as if you were willing to learn, earlier.” She said, lightly. “Walk with me; let’s see if we can teach each other anything.”   
“Majesty.” Hank said, and bowed. He could feel Cain’s angry glare on his back; but he thought, as Raven’s skirts brushed against him, if he was going to have to pay for this afternoon later; he might as well make it an afternoon worth Cain’s temper.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain becomes a more pressing problem. Charles deals with this. Erik has a reaction to the sight of Charles dealing with the problem.
> 
> Charles is completely alright with this reaction.

The garden was too goddamn cold. The walls were too goddamn high, and there weren’t any refreshments. At least, Cain thought, resentfully, eyeing the servants who passed among the jabbering crowd, there weren’t any near him. As soon as he wandered towards a tray of wine, or crappy bites of food, the tray moved off in another direction. It was smooth. It was subtle. Bt it was definitely happening. Cain pulled out his hip flask and took a swig. The raw liquor inside could have been used to strip tar off ships, but it did the job. He’d have to go back to that gambling den. Maybe this time he’d drag McCoy along, make him carry the cash, see if he could avoid the thieves.

At least the thieves had only stolen money, he thought, and laughed quietly to himself. Some of the jabbering crowd stared at him. Cain ignored them as he took a second, larger swig at flask It still tasted vile. He patted his pocket and felt the reassuring crackle of paper along with the weight of metal. As long as he held on to these where Henry McCoy couldn’t find them, the man was _his_. He told Kurt what Cain wanted him to, did Cain’s scutwork, and never complained or made a peep. He was even more reliable than a slave; he still had so much to lose. Even if he never got robbed in Genosha.

Mostly, Cain thought, eyeing his secretary sourly as he sweet talked Genoshans and moved around as smoothly and charmingly as someone with Cain’s thumb on them really shouldn’t, Hank probably looked too poor and useless to be worth robbing. There had to be some reason why he still had the purse Cain had graciously allowed him at the beginning of the journey to Genosha , and he, Cain, had lost seven so far. Money was getting tighter; even though he could count on saving a fair bit by refusing to tip the servants. He got no service; they got no extra cash.   
“You stare at you secretary as if you don’t trust him.” Someone said, smoothly into his ear. 

Cain wheeled to see a stranger; the man who was always with the red Prince. Cain laughed, sourly.  
“Oh, I don’t have to trust him.” He said, airily. The other man looked at him sharply.  
“No?” He strolled towards the fountains. Bored, Cain wandered after him. He wasn’t from Genosha, or Westchester, wasn’t important, so really, he shouldn’t have wasted time in chit-chat, but this man- Janos, that was his name- was at least talking to him, which was more than the stuck Genoshans would.

“They do interesting things with water in this country.” Janos said, smoothly. Cain frowned.   
“Sorry.” He said, not meaning it at all. “Was that, a, a meaningful thing or-“  
“I am interested in fountains.” Janos said, serenely. “You may trust me to say what I mean, even if you do not trust your… secretary.” Cain grinned.  
“I said I don’t have to trust him, and I don’t.” He patted his pocket again, checking. “Got something a bit more reliable than trust.”  
“Money I suppose.” Janos sounded bored. Cain took another swig of booze.  
“Even better.” He said brightly. “Hey, you sure you want to be seen talking to me? Everybody in this country seems to hate Westchester.”

“I am not yet sure.” Janos said, smiling a little “If they hate your country, you… or your ah, past history.” Cain stared at him. Janos regarded the smoothly rippling surface of the fountain as if he was wondering what’s underneath.  
“Past hist- Oh. Charlie.” He looked at the water. Whatever Janos could see there, it was invisible to Cain. “You’d think he’d let bygones be bygones. It’s been fifteen years. More.” He gulped down another shot of booze, uneasy. “I never- It was a mistake.”  
“Hmmm.” Janos looked unconvinced.

“I was a kid- I wasn’t even twenty.” Cain said. A slow wave of anger rose in him. It wasn’t right he should always be punished for one simple mistake. He’d done what Kurt said, taken the brat to the market, and exposed him for sale. That was all it took, and boom, the Xavier lands and money became _Marco_ lands and money. The mistake had been allowing money to change hands, and losing it before the buyback period as over. One simple mistake, and he’d had to pay for it ever since.

Cain glared at Janos and swung away, sharply. He almost blundered in to someone, stepped round them and stared. Charlie was sitting on the edge of the thing, dabbling his hands in the water.  
“You.” Cain said, sullenly. Charles looked up and he tensed at seeing who was talking to him.   
“Lord Marko.” Charles said, coolly. He put out a hand and caught at the sleeve of the man Cain had blundered against. “No, Erik.” he said, without looking away from Cain.  
“Why?” Erik said, a little plaintively.

“Because I said so.” Charles said, calmly, as he stood up. Erik blinked.  
“AN’ what you say goes, huh, Charlie?” Cain sneered.  
“I am Queens’ Champion.” Charles said. “Erik is first Sword; we both answer to the Queen, but I-“ He shot a fond glance at the man- “Out rank him.”  
“Technically.” Erik grumbled.  
“Bit of a change, then.” Cain said, anger growing in him again. “Yu always used to-“  
“I don’t think we need to bring up the past now, Cain.” Charles said, blue eyes bright and steady as he stared.

“Yeah, I bet.” Cain said. “I don’t get it.” He added, a moment later.   
“I don’t care.” Erik said. Charles tightened his grip on the other man’s arm.  
“No, I mean- It’s you, Charlie.” Cain said. “I- They won’t work with me, but you- you were a slave; how can they look at you, treat you like a free-“  
“I am a free man.” Charles said, and his words cut through the air like glass blades; sleek and invisible. “Genosha has no slaves. How else should they treat me?” He shifted a few steps away from the fountain. Cain followed him.

“I’m the Westchester Trade Delegate.” He blustered. Erik snorted, folding his arms.  
“And you’re in Genosha.” He said, curtly. Charles pinched his eyebrows.  
“Lord Marko.” He said, formally. “If you feel your personal history creates a disadvantage-“  
“ _My personal history_?” Cain snapped. “You little- you realise, under home law, I could sell you _again_ right?”  
“I am home.” Charles said, and swung as if to turn away. 

Cain saw red. Here was the reason he wasn’t getting anywhere, the reason he was going to have go back to his father and his country and the mocking faces of his equals empty handed and suffer the consequences, which would be grave. And the little shit could not even admit that he had something to do with it! Cain lurched forwards, grabbing at Charles’ arm.   
“Don’t you walk away from me, Charlie.” He panted. “Not _me_ , your stepbrother. Not after-“ Charles leant back on his heels, and whipped his arm away from Cain’s grasp effortlessly, even as Erik started moving.

There were a few confused moments of scuffling and then Cain was pinned on the floor, arms twisted behind his back.   
“Allow me to make my point again, Cain.” Charles panted into his ear as his knee dug into Cain’s back. “I owe you nothing; I have done nothing, except prevent my friends from creating a diplomatic crisis by killing you.” Cain struggled, briefly, but subsided with a yelp when Charles moved his thumbs, pointedly. Erik grinned fiercely; the other spectators appeared not to notice anything at all.

“You gotta-“ Cain panted, as his fine clothing was ground into the dirt by Charles’ weight on his back. When had little Charlie gotten so tough?  
“I. Am. A. Free. Man.” Charles said, very clearly. The words seemed to carve themselves into Cain’s memory. “You are not my family, not my friend; as far as I’m concerned you’re a ghost from my _dead past_. Talk to or touch me again and I will do my best to _exorcise you._ ” He paused, and drew in a shaking breath. “Nod if you understand.” There was a brief moment of silence.

Cain nodded.

Charles held him down for a moment longer, and then move off. Cain lay there for a moment; bewildered and angry and, very slightly, afraid. Janos and a girl Cain did not recognise- some dark haired freak with wings- dragged him upright, roughly. No one spoke to him; the crowd seemed not to have seen anything. Cain looked around for Hank. He was miles away, talking to- was that the Queen? Was he making time with that blue bitch instead of doing his job? Cain scowled, furious.  
“Are you much hurt?” Janos said, guiding Cain away from the gardens with a hand on his arm. Cain jerked away, stumbling.

“No.” he said, ungraciously. “I’m fine. Go back to your employer; looks like my secretary’s getting somewhere he can’t.” Janos’s mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed. He gave Cain a nod, and glided away. Left to his own devices, Cain did feel a little shaky. Charlie- Charles had hit him. Had knocked him down and stood on him. Had told- had ordered him never to speak to him again, never to touch him. And although Cain might rage at it, somehow, he knew, he would obey those orders. 

 

The honeysuckle covered arbour was mercifully empty and shielded Charles from other eyes- whether curious or supportive or disapproving, he’d had enough of staring for the day. Charles breathed out slowly,, unsteadily and shook out the lace at his wrists. He slapped the dust off his knees, trying not to shake. That had- that had been an unexpected confrontation. He was rather surprised his hand to hand lessons had stuck at all. Yet when Cain had laid a hand on him, just one restraining hand, he had felt like a hunting dog or hawk with the leash unsnapped or the hood removed, and he had moved without thinking.

“Charles.” Erik said, quietly. He was leaning on the side of the arbour, patiently. His gaze was dark, heavy. “Are you-“  
“I’ll be alright.” Charles said, a little ruefully, and sat on the carved stone bench. He peered at his shoes, and sighed. Scuffed again. Alex was going to scold. Erik slipped in and sat next to him. “Thank you for letting me defend myself.” Charles said, and leaned against him.  
“Charles.” Erik said again. He swallowed. “You have no idea how attractive you were just then.” Charles cocked his head and looked at his fellow Sword.

“What, sitting in a flowery-“  
“Taking down a threat.” Erik said, voice still gravelly and low. Charles opened himself a little, and identified the strong wave pouring off Erik. Not anger, not aggression- well, not precisely. Lust. Desire. Charles swallowed. He was surprised at just how little fear the prospect meeting of Erik’s desires caused him.  
“Ah.” He said, carefully. “I. Um.” Erik cupped Charles’s face with slightly shaking hands.  
“May I…” Charles opened his mouth, wordlessly assenting. Erik kissed him. 

Charles kissed him back

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Charles.” Erik said, a little later. His eyes were blown wide and dark and desperate. “But I _really_ need to suck your cock. Now.”  
“Right now?” Charles said, faintly. He gestured at the frail green walls surrounding them.  
“Well, shortly.” Erik said, after a thoughtful pause. “If that doesn’t make you-“   
“I think you can reassure yourself I am on board with that idea.” Charles was quite pleased with the steadiness of his reply.   
“My room?” Erik said. Charles nodded.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik sucks Charles' cock and plot is not advanced. Sorry.

The walk to Erik's quarters was uneventful. At the door, Erik pulled off his coat, and eased Charles out of his, carefully. Once inside, Erik took a spill from the jar and lit it at the small fire smouldering on the hearth. Charles knelt and began coaxing it to brighter flame as Erik lit the lamps, and all the candles he could get hold of. Charles raised an eyebrow.  
“It isn't even dark yet, Erik.”  
“It will be.” Erik said. “And besides, you're even more beautiful in candlight.He closed the door and placed the bar in its brackets, with an air of finality.

“No one bothers me in my rooms, anyway.” he said to Charles. He cocked his head. “You're all right with that?” He did not mean his isolated room, and they both knew that. Charles felt a wave of warm affection wash through him. His- lover, yes they were lovers, now,- was always so tender of his fears.  
 _Yes_ , Erik.” Charles said, fondly. “I don't need clear exits in your room, only... well, in other spaces.” He swallowed. “And most people are still at the party- or something very like it, but with ale instead of wine- so my shields should be f-”

“Oh, thank all the gods.” Erik said, and he strode forwards quickly. He tilted Charles' face up, looked at him for a long, charged moment, and then kissed him, deep and hot. Charles' knees weakened, and he swayed, leaning into Erik for a long breath. Erik chuckled in his ear, his breath brushing heat and shivers through Charles. Charles shook himself.  
“Erik...” He said, aloud. “what you said, just now, you don't have to...”  
“Suck your cock, Charles?” Erik said, hopefully. “Well, if you'd prefer me not to, but-  
“I just don't understand how you can enjoy it.” Charles said, and looked at his feet.

 _Because **you** never enjoyed it._ Erik thought, and hoped Charles had not heard him. He did not want to bring those times when he'd had no choices back to Charles' attention if they had slipped his memory.  
“I could show you.” he offered. Charles looked up at him, quickly. Erik tapped the side of his head. Charles stared, mouth open.  
“I...” he started, and then broke off, swallowing. “I know how you feel about me, when we touch, I just...  
“Look a little deeper, if you like.” Erik said, and grinned.

“Um.” Charles said, a little weakly. “How should-”  
“Sit here.” Erik said, and steered Charles back to the most comfortable armchair in the room. The seat was perhaps a little high for Charles' shorter legs, but it would serve. He crouched before Charles and reached for his boots.”Point your feet, please.” Charles did not like tight shoes, so they were removed easily enough. Erik had a larger struggle with his own footwear; Charles grinned. Barefoot, Erik paced back across the chamber and kissed the smile off Charles' face and onto his own. As Erik began to stand up, Charles rose out of his chair as if drawn by his lips alone.

“Untie your trousers.” Erik purred. “And watch me get myself ready for you.” Charles dropped into the chair heavily, as if his legs had stopped working. Erik grinned and started to unfasten his shirt cuffs. He yanked at the laces, and was reasonably sure he snapped them; it didn't seem to matter. Not with Charles looking at him like that. Not with Charles looking like that, either; hungry and almost eager, as he shoved his fine trousers and smallclothes down past his knees and on to the floor. 

Erik shrugged his shirt off, rapidly. He snatched a pillow from the bed and dropped it at Charles' feet. Charles began to fight his way out of his shirt and waistcoat. Erik moved to help him, only checking when he remembered his own state, half clad, and-  
“You don't frighten me when you're taller than me, Erik. It happens too often.” Charles said, a little breathlessly. “And some help would be appreciated. I think this shirt is trying to preserve my virtue on purpose.”  
“Too often?” Erik chuckled, drawing Charles' shirt over his head. “You mean, _always._ ”

Charles naked was a wonderful sight, Erik thought, but Charles naked and _laughing_ was a **glorious** one. Slowly, he sank to his knees, and laid reverent hands on Charles' finely curved, well muscled thighs.  
“Charles.” Erik said, dry mouthed. “May I please..?”  
“Yes.” Charles said, rapidly. “Please,... please, do as you wish.” His hands clenched on the padded arms of his chair. Erik took a moment to stroke them both, in reassurance, before he bowed his head and opened his mouth.

His first taste of Charles made them both groan. Erik licked and kissed, eagerly, every inch of Charles' beautiful cock, before taking him fully into his mouth. Charles groaned again. Erik smiled to himself, and lost time in the sensation of Charles' cock quickening and swelling on his tongue. He moved his head, and Charles made a distressed noise. Erik tried to think very loudly as he swirled his tongue around Charles' cockhead.  
 _-Is this alright, love?-_ Charles bit his lip and let out a muffled cry.  
 _-Not going to hurt you-_ Charles thought at Erik, frantically. - _Not going-_

Hastily, Erik reached out and grabbed Charles' hands. He placed them on his own head, and held them there, lightly.  
 _-Feel what I feel-_ he said, urgently, in their thoughts. Gently, he sucked again, running the tip of his tongue along Charles' slit. The drops of precome that he coaxed out of Charles tasted as sweet as any victory he could remember.  
“I- Oh, oh- You _like_ this.” Charles said, aloud, in wonder. It was true. - _I can **feel** you liking this-_ he added, and Erik could sense his lover's awed wonder keenly as his own excitement built.

Erik didn't bother trying to phrase a mental reply. He simply leaned against Charles' mind, trusting to Charles to keep him safe as Charles trusted him in return. Charles' hands lay lightly on Erik's head. He slipped his hands under Charles' hips and gave a little tug, urging Charles to angle his legs more widely. He gave a long, slow, suck, and watched as Charles' body slackened and tensed in different places.  
“Oh gods.” Charles said, weakly, as Erik moved from his cock to his heavy, sensitive balls, and back again. _”Oh.”_ His thighs began to quiver. Erik slid one hand in and pressed, firmly, behind Charles' balls. At the same time he opened his mouth and relaxed himself as much as he could before drawing Charles' cock as deeply as he could into himself. Charles made a frantic, strangled noise. Erik sucked again, and bobbed his head, caught up completely in Charles' need.  
They could both feel how high Charles was spiraling, under Erik's ministrations. Erik focused absolutely on the movements of his tongue and his mouth. His own hardness was almost irrelevant, an abstract, distant thing, like the aching of his knees. 

_Erik, I- I'm going to-_ Charles said, silently, _I- ___  
He was almost, almost- Erik pressed again, with his fingers, and Charles came with a sobbing shout, spilling into his mouth, and pulling Erik's own climax from him as he did so. Erik swallowed what he could, and let the rest spill over his face. He sighed, in long satisfaction, and laid his head in Charles' lap for a moment. His skin tingled. Erik raised his head, and looked up at Charles.  
“Thank you.” he said, a trifle hoarsely. Charles blinked wet eyes at him, and reached down to thumb some of his mess from the corner of Erik's mouth.  
“Thank _me_?” he said, slightly shakily. “Erik, what about-”  
“Oh, I enjoyed it.” Erik said, and shuffled forwards slightly so Charles' legs embraced him. “Although I don't think the pillow did.” he added, wryly, as his knee hit the wet spot. 

“You- untouched?” Charles said. Erik nodded. “I- oh, come up here, come here.” Charles opened his arms. Erik wallowed up from the floor, and Charles wrapped himself around Erik, almost desperately.  
“I love you.” he said, fervently. “I don't- what you've given me-”  
“I have given you nothing you did not deserve.” Erik said, and kissed him. “Nothing I didn't want to give.” he added, and kissed him again.  
“I-” Charles said, and gave up. A wave of _love/gratitude/possessive_ affection rolled through them both. 

Erik stood, and then, carefully, because he was still faintly wobbly, and Charles was sturdy as well as precious, lifted his lover an carried him to the bed.  
“Snuggling is better under the covers.” Charles said, thoughtfully, after some reflection.  
“We are not snuggling.” Erik said, tugging the covers over them. “We are fierce warriors for our Queen.”  
“Then what are we doing?”  
“Embracing.” Erik said, after a pause. “Fiercely.” he added, a little defensively.

Charles began to laugh.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot!!! Plot!!!. Hank has a quiet moment on the roof, before a confrontation with the Scarlet Prince. Janos makes- and reveals- a very interesting discovery.

Hank liked the Palace roof after dark. The dim flickering of oil lamps from many windows and the moving sparks of the Watch lanterns looked like so many tiny flecks of gold, from his high view point. It was a little cold, and breezy with it, but it was peaceful; with only one palace guard on watch. And with Cain in his current mood, it was a good bit safer than their rooms. Hank winced, when he thought of their last meeting. Hank had managed to talk to the Queen when she’d cold-shouldered him throughout their time here. Cain had been _furious_ , although Hank rather thought there was something else at the bottom of his temper.

Hank had protested that he’d done his best to convey Cain’s views, to bring the trade matters to the Queen’s attention, and no more, but Cain had refused- as he did so often now- to be placated. He had raged at Hank, and the universe, and Genosha, for an hour, or more, before finally Hank had been able to slip away. He thought about sleeping on the roof, but just then a breeze cut through his shirtsleeves, and Hank knew it wouldn’t be warm enough, not all night. He’d just have to hope Cain had got as drunk enough to pass out by the time he went in.

Hank rubbed his hands together, and put his face into them. He tried to persuade himself he could still detect the perfumes of the rose the Queen had –not given him, that would be a foolish assumption- let him hold, for a small amount of time. He had returned it, politely, to one of her ladies in waiting, when the looks of those around him had reminded Hank of his place, and the likelihood of her actually being interested in what he was saying.

Raven had been very good at simulating interest, though. Hank gave a little chuckle. Poor girl, poor Queen, having to listen to him babble on at her about economics, and chemistry, and whatever else he’d thought of. She really was very lovely. Smart- for she’d had her own, informed viewpoint on most of the subjects he’d touched on- kind, to talk to a mere secretary so politely- and beautiful. He sighed, wistfully.

Yes, Raven was lovely. And this was likely the only time he’d ever speak to her directly. He’s had a wonderful hour. Hank had spent a beautiful spring day, in a flower garden, with the most beautiful and out of reach girl imaginable. It was like a play, or one of those terrible stories his mother always denied reading, although she would say a little daydreaming did no one harm. Just one dream, really, to think of her smiling at him again, a true smile this time. The wind was picking up.

A few more minutes spent day dreaming, and then he’d go. 

“You.” A voice said, harshly. Hank looked up, anxiously. He relaxed when he saw the Prince of Muscovy, unaccompanied by his shadowy assistant, for once. Prince Azazel was a gracious man; educate and interested in conversation, even with Hank. Hank smiled, and stood.  
“Good evening, Prince.” He said, politely. Azazel scowled at him. Hank blinked, startled.  
“How _dare_ you!” Azazel snarled, advancing. Hank began to back away. Azazel seemed to be in a rage, although Hank could not think why.  
“I don’t- what have I done, your-“

“What have you _done_?” Azazel said, grabbing Hank by the shoulders. “He talks with the Queen an hour, and takes blossom from her, and he asks what he has _done?”_  
“I.” Hank said. The prince’s fingers were digging into his shoulders in a way that was painfully reminiscent of Cain. “I- I don’t think she meant anything by it, I-“  
“And what did _you_ mean by it, you, you _Lackey_?” Azazel snapped. “You gave the flower she gave to you away. You.” He shook Hank, jarring all his bruises. 

“You, who are you?” Azazel said, furiously. “You, a secretary, to the most worthless man on this island, and she talks to you?” Hank gasped, and blinked. Things began to become clearer. A lot clearer. The Prince of Muscovy was, it seemed, a little jealous. Hank couldn’t imagine why; given that Queen Raven had never spoken to him before, and doubtless would not remember his name, but- His back hit the battlements with bruising force, and he cried out. “How could you raise your eyes to her face?” Azazel said. “You should not even look at her.”

“I-I gave the flower _back_ ” he said, reeling. “And what business is it of yours, where I _look?_ The lady is Queen of all Genosha, do you honestly think she’d even notice _me?_ ” Azazel’s grasp loosened, sharply. Hank leaned against the wall, gasping. “I-I know.” He said, slightly hoarsely. “I know what I am, Prince, you need not fear my master ever lets me forget it.” He took a deep breath, and continued, more calmly. “I know that flower was no gift; that’s why I asked one of the ladies in waiting to return it to her.” 

“What?” Azazel said, staring.  
“I asked-“ Hank was finding it hard to catch his breath. “One of the ladies in waiting to return it, or dispose of it, or whatever is usually done with the Queen’s favours. I’m not stupid. Even if I had, had wealth, and rank, and wasn’t from Westchester, if Cain didn’t- He broke off, desperately grasping for self control. Thinking about his situation, let alone talking about it, to a noble- it hurt. “It wouldn’t- it wouldn’t ever be for me.” He said, and swallowed down the bitterness and fear. “I’m not exactly- Well.” 

“You underestimate yourself, my friend.” Azazel said, and his voice was much warmer, suddenly. Hank shrugged, and winced. Really, between Cain and Azazel, he was going to need more bruise salve soon.  
“I am sorry. Forgive me.” The Prince said, then, more gently. Hank looked up, startled. “I saw you give away her flower; and I was angry, because I thought it meant you did not understand. That you were trying-“ Azazel made a remarkable flexible gesture.  
“I see.” Hank said, tiredly. “Well, I’m glad- you were trying to protect her.” He stepped away from the wall, and nearly staggered. Azazel put his hand out, but Hank flinched from it, automatically. 

“I- I would not-“ Azazel said. Hank gave him a weary smile.  
“Just instinct, your Highness. I’m sorry.” He bowed, a little stiffly, and Azazel’s face fell.  
“My cursed temper- I have hurt you, I’m sorry.” Hank shook his head.  
“Old bruises, that’s all, your highness.” He took a slow step away, and Azazel frowned.  
“Nevertheless, I should not have-“  
“You hardly need to worry.” Hank said, stepping slowly towards the stairway. “My employer is Cain Marko; you’re going to have to try very hard to be less agreeable than him.”

Azazel blinked. Hank smiled, a little weakly.  
“If he is so terrible, why do you-?” Azael said, before being interrupted.  
“Work for him?” Hank said, wryly. “Not everybody has the luxury of choosing how or for who they work.” Azazel’s mouth opened. Hank really didn’t want to hear anymore. And he also knew he needed to stop talking, before he revealed anything else.  
“I bid you good night, Prince.” Hank bowed, again, and this time Azazel nodded. He slipped down the steps quickly, and quietly. He brushed past Janos with a nod. Janos looked at him oddly. Hank turned and fled.

 

“Identifying more challenges, my lord?” he said, dryly. Azazel shook his head, impatiently.  
“I thought you said that he was near as attractive as the Queen-“ Janos continued, unperturbed.   
“No, not that.” Azazel said. “I- I saw him this afternoon-“  
“The great matter of the re-gifted flower, yes.” Janos said, with a roll to his eyes. “I hope you managed to- what am I saying, when has my lord ever managed self restraint over courting, even just token courting?”

Azazel looked away. Janos sighed.  
“Please tell me you did not talk of this to the Queen?” he said. Azazel looked affronted.  
“Of course not; my ire was over the fact I believed him to be valuing her token so lightly.” He said. “I would hardly tell _her_ that, would I?”  
“I am finding it very hard not to slap the back of your head, right now, my lord.” Janos said. “I am afraid I cannot say just what you would do. What did you say to him? He looked unhappy.”

“Only that he was not worthy of her.”  
“Original.” Janos said, dryly. “What did he-“  
“He stated he knew that, and added his belief that even had he been, she would never regard him so.” Azazel said. Janos winced. “But… I think I have found a mystery, Janos.” Janos put his face in his palm.  
“Oh?”  
“Why would a man so capable, so courteous and decent, work for one such as Cain Marko?” Azazel said, thoughtfully. 

“He did make a comment, about that- he said he had no choice in the matter.” Azazel elected to avoid the part where he had actually laid rough hands on the poor secretary.   
“If you offer to employ him, you cannot lie with him.” Janos warned his master. Azazel nodded. He knew that; it was one of his father’s strictest rules.  
“But still. It is a puzzle.” Janos grinned then, his wild and wicked grin of old.  
“One that I believe the contents of Cain Marko’s pockets might hold the answer to.”   
“Janos…” Azazel said. 

“It was in a good cause.” Janos said, piously. “He had… fallen, after the Queen’s Champion spoke to him.”   
“I saw that.” Azazel said, more cheerfully. “Could not have happened to a more deserving fellow.  
“I lightened his burden.” Janos said. “A _very_ revealing letter, and… this most peculiar necklace.” He held out the odd little metal tag. Azazel lifted it, using his tail, and tensed.  
“That’s a Westchestrian slave tag.” The Prince said, sharply.  
“Unused.” Janos said, quietly. “Odd, don’t you think?”  
“What did the letter say?”

Janos handed it over.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day!
> 
> Cain is a horrible man, and he's in a horrible situation.

His head was pounding like a whole midget armoury was at work, and his mouth tasted like the slave market midden. And he had _bruises_. Actual bruises, from being knocked down. Cain groaned, miserably. He thought about shouting for McCoy to bring him a potion and maybe more wine, but then he remembered two things, almost at once. Firstly, his head. And secondly, that McCoy was not in their chambers; Cain had kicked him out hours ago, when he first woke up.

Cain glared at the ceiling. He had a headache; and he was bored. Bored, bored, Bored. McCoy had gone off to a meeting with Lord Wisdom. He’d been supposed to go as well, but, well, whatever he’d drunk last night had not agreed with him when Hank had awoken him. He’d cursed McCoy feebly, and then vomited all over the floor. McCoy had cleared it up; he’d been acting like a chambermaid ever since they first got here, but this time Cain hadn’t sneered at his secretary for it.

Normally, of course, they’d have a pretty little chambermaid or two about the place, but not in Genosha, no. The servants were all ugly, and old, when they were there at all. Genoshans just didn’t understand hospitality, Cain mused. Still, at least he’d thought to bring McCoy along. The secretary was good at being useful. Unsurprising, really. Cain had trained him up for three years, now, since he’d been able to get the man under his thumb. And with Cain training him, McCoy had learnt to be useful quickly enough.

Maybe too quickly. Cain grunted to himself, and scratched his chest. He’d had to talk to McCoy about that last night. Okay, so maybe he’d shouted at him more than usual. That was partly because of Charlie- Charles Xavier, he corrected himself, hastily. The Queen’s Champion had over reacted and dumped Cain on his ass, in front of a whole crowd of people. Cain didn’t like that. He didn’t like losing, and he didn’t like being laughed at. His thoughts slid away from Charles without him noticing.

Charles wasn’t important anymore. He didn’t want to think about him. Not ever again. Cain sat up and punched his pillows, insisting to himself that that was normal. Charles hadn’t scared him, or … done anything to him. He just didn’t want to think about him. He was part of the past, really, not the here and now. Cain was nothing to h- nothing to do with him. That was all. And he really didn’t want to bother finding out what Charles had meant when he’d said “exorcise” in that tone of voice. Cain resolutely did not shiver.

McCoy, now… He was getting too uppity. Thinking, just because Cain made him do the scutwork, he could do the rest of Cain’s job, too. Jumped up little liar that he was. Look at how he’d been acting last night; actually talking to the Queen, shouldering Cain aside, so Cain got dumped on his ass in the dirt, and Hank got a pretty flower. Shame he hadn’t kept it. Cain had been planning on making him _eat_ it; or else give it to him.

Cain shifted, uneasily. He couldn’t deny things weren’t going so well. The trade talks were taking far longer than he’d expected, and they weren’t going anywhere. No; Genosha wasn’t interested in mutual tariff reductions. No, they weren’t interested in exclusive trade agreements, either. Lord Wisdom had explained it, sneering insultingly. Apparently Genoshans traded in luxuries made by skilled craftsmasters or bought Westchestrian goods to resell in Westchester. 

No, they weren’t interested in a flood of cheap, slave made goods glutting their markets. Apparently the smaller crafters would lose out, not being able to sell at a profit. Who cared about them? Just because they did all the work themselves; that was hardly special. Back in Westchester, if you didn’t have the money to own a slave, you had to do most of the work yourself, like a peasant. Free servants were too expensive, and they were lazy and unreliable.

Of course, they had far more lower classes than Westchester did, in Genosha; because the slave markets weren’t there to act as a drain on the numbers of poor and useless mouths. No one got sold into slavery here over debts, or crimes. They imprisoned or executed them instead, which Cain thought was pretty barbaric. Not to mention short sighted. You couldn’t make much money off prisoners, or have fun with them like you could slaves. And the “No s” _just kept coming_. 

No, Genoshan Lords didn’t need gifts. (In fact, they _couldn’t_ take gifts beyond a certain price, if they were on their precious Council. Another barbarism.) Cain had to admit to himself, reluctantly, that Hank had been bang on the money about that one. Handy, because it meant some of the funds for the delegation weren’t going to be needed for bribes, less handy, because he’d damn near got himself imprisoned, before he’d been able to convince them that it was all a misunderstanding and Hank’s fault to boot.

Cain thought about returning empty handed, no trade agreements, money spent, and shivered. Kurt would be furious, and the standing of the Marko family would diminish still further. And that was before the people he … owed money to had come calling. He’d been able to talk them into waiting for final payment. He’d pointed at the trade delegation, hinted that he’d be doing a few deals on the side, (Which he would have done, if any of the Genoshans had been willing to _talk_ to him), and advance some money from the delegations funds.

Money he didn’t know how he was going to smooth over the absence of. Money he had not been given for personal use. Cain knew he had to be careful. He could exactly steal anything but… Maybe if he found something he could sell? Or someone? He carefully didn’t think of Charles. He didn’t think about Charles Xavier any more. Snatch a kid or two, though and… No, that wasn’t going to work. Cain sighed. 

Genosha was an island; he wasn’t going to keep any slave-to-be quiet in a free ship for the time it would take to get back to Westchester. Cain sat up, and reached for his shirt. He wasn’t going to waste the day lying there and worrying, not when he could do something more constructive than dreaming up wild plans for capturing slaves. He still had some money left; the funds not used on buying gifts, mostly. No one would be expecting him to bring those back.

And he’d always been good at cards, and sometimes lucky, with the dice.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mr McCoy, my lord is sorry for his fool tongue." Janos spoke from between gritted teeth.
> 
> In which Azazel is a well meaning fool, Hank is terrified to the point of foolishness, and Janos- no fool- judges us all.
> 
> Headslapping is involved.

“Thank you, Lord Wisdom. Lady Pryde.” Hank said, and stood aside to let the higher-ranked Genoshans proceed him out of the debating chamber. Which meant just about everyone. The two he’d named lingered, waiting to talk to him.  
“No, thank you, lad; you’re much more refreshing to talk to than your Delegate. More courteous, too” Lord Wisdom smiled, dryly as Hank tried to hide his wince. “Come along, girl.” Lady Pryde smiled at him, and took Lord Wisdom’s hand.

Hank let out a long, slow breath as they departed. The session had been diverting; but the base problems still remained. They weren’t going to make any headway on getting lower tariffs. Genosha had no desire to cripple its own industries by accepting a flood of cheaper, lower quality goods, especially when they were slave made. He doubted anyone would have been able to sway them on this; the fact that Cain Marko was nominally in charge of the delegation was just the crust on the pie.

Cain was a set of problems all his own. He’d known that when he’d been recruited by Kurt to be his son’s babysitter and secretary-tutor. That had been before Cain had made his… unfortunate discovery, and promptly proceeded to blackmail Hank into lying to Kurt, doing most of Cain’s dirty or boring work, and paying Cain most of his salary. Even if no one every found out what Cain had on him; if Kurt ever found out his “secret reports” were no longer secret or truthful, He, Hank, could likely kiss his freedom, and possibly his life, goodbye.

Hank could see no way out, though. He rubbed his aching head. Cain had clocked him a good one, when he’d tried wake him for the meeting. At least it wasn’t too visible. Hank rarely bruised much.  
“Mr McCoy. We should talk, you and I.” Hank turned. And tensed. Prince Azazel was smiling at him. He’d liked the man when they had met before, but their last encounter had left him wary. The man had a more violent temper than Hank had first thought, and he was a noble.  
“Your Highness.” He said, politely. “I feel we discussed many things last night. And this has been a long morning.” 

He took a step backwards. An unclassifiable expression flitted across the Scarlet Prince’s face.  
“I am sorry.” Azazel said, ambiguously. “Walk with me.” He said, gesturing expansively. “I have news you may be interested in.”  
“As you wish, Highness.” Inwardly, Hank sighed. He could not think of a polite way of avoiding this, and he didn’t dare be impolite to the heir to the Crimson Kingdom. He wished Janos was there. The quiet, sardonic man seemed to have a calming effect on his lord.

“Shall we visit the flower gardens again?” Azazel said, shortly. He seemed… excited about something, but also oddly cautious. Hank felt himself grow more wary. The Prince was _planning_ something. He swallowed against a rush of nausea, and nodded.  
“I wished to apologise for my conduct, yesterday.” Azazel said. “I- sometimes, I am impulsive.” Hank smiled and nodded, carefully. Azazel sighed.   
“You apologised, last night, Highness.” He pointed out. “There’s no need to-“

“Last night, something you said… made me think.” Azazel said, long legs taking him forwards into the sunlight beyond the garden door. He nodded to the Palace Guard on duty, who looked from Hank to Azazel and back, before saluting, smartly.  
“Oh?” Hank said, calmly.  
“You said, among other things, that you worked for Marko because you had no choice.” Azazel said, softly. Hank licked dry lips and waited, with a growing sense of doom. “I found myself… wondering why.” The Prince continued, apparently carelessly.

“Why, Highness?” Hank said, almost croaking.  
“Why a man such as yourself: Intelligent, educated, loyal and hardworking, should have no choice but to work for a man such as Marko.” The Prince said, and there was a short, terrible silence. Hank could not look at him, or reply, at first.  
“I… Highness, I would prefer not to discuss my c-choices, my private life-“ Hank said. Azazel cocked his head. “I thought that might be so. I decided, myself, to investigate, instead.” He looked up. 

“Ah- the fountains are not on, today. A pity.” Azazel said, sadly. Hank blinked.   
“And, do you know what we found?” The Prince said, happily.  
“No, Highness.” Hank said, in despair. The light on the water of the fountains was dazzling. He blinked.   
“Can you explain what these are, to me?” The Scarlet Prince was holding out items Hank had last seen clutched in Cain Marko’s gleeful fist. A letter, and a child’s slave tag. Unused. Hank’s heart stopped, briefly, and his stomach sank.

“I- That’s a letter of private sale and a child’s slave tag.” He said, flatly. “Referring to the transaction between Mary McCoy and her cousin, over the cousin’s infant child.”  
“But, Mistress McCoy did not treat the child as a slave, did she?” Azazel sounded genuinely interested. Hank wished he’d get to the point. He shook his head.  
“And that is, I think, a crime, in Westchester?” Hank said nothing. Surely the Prince knew all this.  
“And, I further think, that child was…You.” Azazel said, softly. Hank gritted his teeth, and nodded.  
“Me.” He confirmed.

There was another pause. 

Dully, Hank wished Azazel would just get it over with; let him know what he was going to demand in return for his silence. He hoped the Prince would understand how little-  
“I asked your mother, why you did not leave Westchester.” Azazel said, then, and Hank stared at him.  
“You- you spoke to-“ He swallowed down his terrified fury. “When did you do that, your Highness?” Azazel frowned slightly.  
“This morning, when I invited her to tour Muscovy.” He smiled. “She is a most lovely woman.”

 _Oh god_. Hank thought, in despair. Azazel had his mother. There was no way out, none at all. No question now, what the Prince intended to do; take over from Cain as a blackmailer, and really, what choice was there? His mother, his mother who had risked so much to keep him free, who had done so much- a prisoner. He staggered, slightly, and leaned against the fountain wall. It was getting harder to breathe.  
“You’re very quiet.” Azael said, mildly, and Hank wanted to vomit.

“I apologise, your Highness.” Hank said, and was pleased to note how steady he could keep his voice. “What would you like me to say?” Azazel shrugged.  
“Thank you, perhaps?” He sounded almost… teasing.  
“Of course.” Hank said, flatly. His hands had started to shake. Azazel looked at him, properly, and frowned.   
“Hank.” He said, urgently. “Hank, no, it is not- look at me, Hank-“  
“What form would you like my thank you to take?” Hank said, quietly, staring at the still water. “I don’t- your Highness, I can’t think what you hope to gain-“

Hank sagged against the fountain some more. His heart seemed to be behaving very oddly, and his knees had given up on him. Slowly, he began to slide floorwards.  
“Hank.” Azazel said, from somewhere far away. “Look at me.” Hank blinked. “I am taking you inside, you are not well, but I assure you, Hank, I don’t mean-“ The world dissolved in a rush of black and red smoke, and reformed in some luxurious rooms Hank had never seen before.  
“I don’t mean to harm you.” Azazel said, and dimly, Hank identified the odd tone in his voice, as panic. 

“My lord! You’re back-“ Janos started, and then his eyes narrowed, taking in Hank’s presence, and his obvious terror and misery. “I said, it would be better if you waited for my presence.” He said, between gritted teeth, and slapped the back of his tall master’s head. “You do not _think_ , my lord. Look, look how you’ve scared him.” Azazel looked ashamed. Hank did not resist as he was steered into a large chair. Azazel shifted from foot to foot, worriedly.

“Mr McCoy, my lord is _sorry_ for his _fool tongue_.” Janos said, dryly. “Try to breathe more slowly.”

“Slowly.” Hank said, and did his best. “I don’t – what do you _want_?” he said, not quite crying.  
“I am sorry.” Azazel said, remorsefully. “I only, I wanted to break you free from that lump, Marko. I knew he had a hold on you he should not have.” He sank to his knees before Hank and took Hank’s clammy hands in his. “I thought, when I learned what it was- even without his proof, Marko might seek to make trouble, so I invited your mother for a visit. I would never do her, or you, harm.”  
“I’d stop him.” Janos said. “Drink this. Slowly.” He handed over a cup. 

Hank took it shakily, and sipped. Cowslip wine. It was warming. Sweet. His brain began to re engage as his panic ebbed.  
“Ah- you jumped to Westchester?” Hank said, incredulous. “Over- to see my mother?” Azazel smiled, nodding.   
“Only the work of a second, this morning. She is a most clever lady- I can see you in her- she said she had often longed to travel.”  
“And you don’t... don’t want anything for this?” Hank prodded, trying to make sure.

“My lord wishes to feel that he is a hero.” Janos said. “He says, heroes require no payment.”

“Oh.” Hank said, and drank some more wine. He felt… he didn’t know what he felt. Quietly, Janos set a lit candle on the table at Hanks’ elbow. The scarlet Prince rose from his knees and handed Hank the fateful letter.  
“Here.” He said, quietly. “You can burn this, now.”  
“But-“ Hank said, as he held the old paper to the flame, and watched it catch. “Why, why would you-“  
“And then you should rest, perhaps.” Janos said, firmly. 

He gave Hank a crooked smile. “More details later; but know your mother is safe and so are your secrets.”

“Welcome to Muscovy.” Azazel said, and smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotting. In a library. :)

The Palace Library in the Genoshan capital was a beautiful room in and of itself, even before one considered the number and quality of the books it held. Every wall held bookcases, and the main reading room had a clear bright fire on all but the hottest days. Today, in spring, sunlight and shadow marked pools dappled the flagstone floors. Hank had loved it the first time he saw it, and he found himself drifting back there whenever he could, alone or in company. As well as a place of great knowledge, it was also a good place for various clandestine meetings, with its nooks and crannies. And discreet librarians. 

Hank selected a book- a commentary on the history of the royal family, and laid it on his chosen desk. He spread out his sheaf of notes, a page of clean paper, and sharpened his pencil. Preparations complete; he stared at his belongings, unable to think or study. It was just possible, Henry McCoy thought, that he had died, and was being rewarded with a good dream before he journeyed. Little else could explain how happy, how relaxed he found himself to be, lately.

“Hsst!” Hank jumped in his seat at the sharp noise, and turned to see Azazel beckoning him. He trotted after Janos and the Prince, into the maps section of the library, full of display cases and empty of people.  
“If you keep smiling like that when you see us.” Janos hissed at him. “People will believe either I or my lord have succeeded in fucking you.” Hank stumbled.  
“What?” Janos rolled his eyes.   
“Your mother said you were not often aware of other’s regard, but-“ 

Azazel made another sharp hissing noise, which was mercifully enough to stop Janos before Hank had to contemplate his mother talking to either Janos or the Scarlet Prince about him.  
“So.” Azazel said, brightly. “We are here to meet a friend of mine, and to complain about Cain Marko behind his back, yes?” He gave Hank a friendly smile. Hank felt himself flush.  
“Yes.” He said. “He’s discovered _gambling_. But he’s- he really not going to bring harm to Genosha or to the Crimson Kingdom; you know he’s far too-“ 

Azazel held up a hand.  
“I have an idea.” He said, solemnly. Hank looked interested.  
“And the world trembles.” Janos said, sourly. Azazel gave him a hurt look. Hank twitched, nervously. Janos flicked him a quick, reassuring smile.  
“As I said.” Azazel said, serenely. “I have an idea, for pursuing Cain Marko.” He smiled, then, a quick flash of sharp white against the scarlet skin that gave him his name. Hank swallowe, mouth suddenly dry with something that was not solely fear.

“P-pursuing him?” Hank said, almost calmly. “Why do you want to-?”  
“Because he has hurt people I- know.” Azazel said. “Because he is a brute, and a weed. Because his existence, his conduct- his face is an affront to the laws of nature, taste and justice.” Hank blinked. “And it is a challenge.” Azazel added, somewhat more quietly., as Janos kicked his ankle.  
“Oh.” Hank said. “Um, what was your idea, your Highness?”  
“Blackmail is a crime.” Azazel said, brightly.

“I _know._ ” Hank said, pointedly, and flushed. “Uh. Your highness.” He added, carefully.  
“It is a crime we know has been taking place right here, in the capital of Genosha.” Azazel said, still brightly. “I am concerned about that; I must always stand for the rule of law; it is a my duty as-“  
“As a _hero._ Janos muttered, sourly.  
“As crown prince.” Azazel said, calmly. “My solemn duty, and my absolute pleasure.”  
“A pleasure?” Hank said. “Why?” Azazel and Janos gave him nearly identical grins.

“It is as my lord says.” Janos said. “Cain Marko has hurt people he likes. He feels he must answer.”  
“I didn’t know you knew the Queen’s Champion.” Hank murmured to himself. Azazel rolled his eyes. Janos reached out and- gently- slapped the back of Hank’s head.  
“My lord includes you in that tally of people, Henry McCoy. Do not be offensively stupid.”  
“Oh. Uh, right. Um. Thank you?” Hank said, blushing inexplicably.

There was a short pause. Janos gazed at a faded map of the Old City. Hank blinked and tried to get his brain back online. Azazel whistled as he walked along one bookcase, reading the spines.  
“Does your plan have any more details?” Hank prompted, when the silence stretched. Azazel turned to him with a sharp smile.  
“Well. The objects being used to force your compliance are destroyed, no?” Hank nodded. “So, we must use all our cunning.” Azazel said, expansively. Janos grinned.

“Uh huh.” Hank said, warily. He pinched the brisge of his nose, thinking.  
“We must go straight to the Queen, or her Champion, and lay the matter before them.” Azazel said, thoughtfully. “Charles Xavier is a telepath and an expert in Westchestrian law, so he will understand and can verify that my word is true.”  
“Your word?” Hank said, slowly. “But I-“   
“Henry. Hank.” Azazel said, fondly. “I could not plan my vengeance on Cain Marko, and simply assume you or your mother would be willing or able to serve me.”

“Oh.” Hank said. “But-“ He breathed in, and took a step closer to the Prince.  
“I carry the memories of my meeting with your mother- remind me, I have a letter from her to give you, from this morning- and my meeting with you, where you explained this to me.” Azazel said. “Any telepath could testify these were true memories.”  
“Yes, but as Crown Prince of Muscovy, you have diplomatic immunity to a reading.” Hank said, shaking his head. Janos smiled.  
“I do not care for that.” Azazel said, waving a hand.

“Legally, you should.” Hank said, crisply. “It’s a dangerous precedent to set; given how much sensitive knowledge you have in your head. Not to mention-“ Janos smiled more widely. Hank stopped and drew in a long breath. “Sorry. I can start to ramble, on legal matters.”  
“Oh, my lord needs so _much_ instruction. On legal, and other matters.” Janos said, grinning. “Never stay your tongue from wisdom out of fear of boring him.”  
“In any case.” Hank said, and coughed. He looked out of the window, and collect his thoughts.

“Of course I’d be happy to help in any way, particularly with testimony.” Hank said, and bit his lip. He hoped the Genoshan Court would not think too poorly of him; to submit to blackmail so tamely. But, what choice had he had, with his mother’s safety, at stake? At least the Queen’s Champion had the background to understand the dilemma Hank had been facing.  
“But will not that make your return to W-“ Azazel started to say. Hank laughed, sharp and not quite bitter. Azazel stiffened, tensing.

“I’m quite sure that I will not be returning willingly to Westchester.” Hank said, more calmly. “Ever.” Azazel looked half pained, half pleased. “An accusation of slave status is as bad as proof, almost. And there’s no way of silencing Cain, short of killing him.” Azazel opened his mouth. “And then that’s only if he hasn’t left a note of this in his will, or similar.” Azazel closed his mouth, and leant back, on the bookcase, arms folded, watching with fascination as Hank thought aloud. Janos moved to stand next to him.

“Kurt, too- technically he’s my employer- he’ll be unhappy once he finds out I’ve been falsifying my report and the account books since Cain found out about me, and I don’t think he’ll care about the blackmail; except that if he manages to sell me, he might make the cost of my salary back out of the sale.” Hank chewed at his lip. “Then again, if I return, now that my status is in question, like this, anyone can seize me and try to sell me- and if my mother complains, they’d fine, imprison or sell _her_.”

“Some of this, she has said.” Azazel said. “I think she likes Muscovy.” Hank smiled, shyly.  
“Yeah, so she said to me.” Hank said.  
“And for certainly, my mother likes her.” Azazel said, and Hank blinked.   
“The Queen of the Crimson Kingdom-?”  
“Has offered your mother a place at Court, as one of her advisors.” Janos said. Azazel looked at him. Janos shrugged, and smiled.  
“I see.” Hank said, slowly. That was one more weight off his mind; his mother safely employed where Westchester’s powers could not touch her.

“That makes it easier, for me to speak up.” Hank said. “And not just about the blackmail.”  
“Oh? How else has he hurt you?” Azazel straightened up, swiftly, fists clenched.  
“Not me!” Hank said, quickly, eyeing him a little warily. “He’s been embezzling funds from the mission; for his gambling and so on. If his trade delegation doesn’t succeed, people are going to be very unhappy about that. I have a lot of evidence.”  
“Will you not be an accessory?” Janos said, curious.

Hank gave him a bare-toothed smile.  
“Slaves can’t commit crimes, apart from theft of self, or other slaves.” Janos blinked, and Azazel smiled. “Only their owners are guilty; either of commissioning the crime, or possessing an out-of-control piece of chattel.”  
“But you are no slave.” Azazel said, moving to stare at Hank. “Never a slave, you.”  
“In _Westchester_ , I would be; if not an accessory to crime.” Hank said, simply.  
“But in Genosha, or Muscovy, you would be considered victim to blackmail, only.” Azazel concluded, and Hank nodded.

“Precisely. I’m sure one or other of those kingdoms will grant me permission to remain, for a little while.” He said. “Just till I get myself together.”  
“I cannot employ you.” Azazel said, apologetically. “My father’s rules.” Janos snorted. Hank felt puzzled.  
“I… never expected you to, your highness?” he said, cautiously. “My mother is safe; I’m sure I can find a job, as a scribe or on the docks, once Cain is dealt with, and I’m no longer part of the trade delegation.”

“On the docks?” Azazel said. “Is that not harsh work, for a man with your mental capacities?” Hank smiled.  
“Oh- I’m, I have a Gift of strength, and uh, flexibility and endurance. Your highness.” He said. Janos snorted again. “It’s true. It’s been very useful.” He said slightly wounded.  
“Oh, I was not questioning that, Hank.” Janos said. “I would never doubt your word.”  
“Nor I.” said the Scarlet Prince, in faintly strangled tones.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azazel has a gift for the Queen of Genosha.

Raven stared out of the window. She was trying to reduce the amount of pacing she did in her private council meetings. Erik and Charles shared a quick smile. The grey weather could not dull their spirits of late, Raven thought. They must have made progress. She turned from the window to catch another gooey-eye look from her Champion and her First Sword.  
“Oh, stop it, you two.” She said, moodily. Erik looked stern. Charles paled and sat up straight.  
p>

“My apologies, Majesty.” He murmured, anxiously.

Raven felt the pulse of jealousy she’d felt at seeing her two Swords so happy transmute into guilt. She should be encouraging them, not snapping. They had had a hard road to travel, even before the Westchestrian lout and ex step-brother had shown up.  
“I’m sorry.” She said, pinching her nose. “Let’s get back to business.”  
p>

“The farmers on the estates formerly held by Lord Shaw have another petition.” Erik said, laying the paper before her.

“Are they still as angry as they were before Shaw was dealt with?” Moira said, in some surprise. Erik shook his head, and poured another glass of wine for Charles, who took it with a gentle smile of thanks.  
p>

“They never were that troubled with the crown.” Charles said, softly. “Only their Lord.”  
p>

“Not surprised.” Raven said, skimming the paper. “Alright, Erik what are they asking?”  
p>

“For a new Lord- or Lady.” Erik said. “Or at least an administrator.”  
p>

“Why?” Raven said, curious. “You’d have thought they’d prefer being their own masters.

“They give a number of reasons, but mostly it boils down to wanting whoever collects the tithes and rents to either have a voice at court or to have a vested interest in the lands themselves.” Erik shrugged, calm.  
p>

“But I’m holding the land in the name of the Crown itself.”  
p>

“Yes, but they don’t value their chances at getting to see you about the fields that need draining, or the roads that need mending.” Charles pointed out. “You’re Queen; all Genosha is yours. They want to be someone’s in particular.”  
p>

“Don’t we all.” Raven said, more to herself than the meeting.  
p>

“Do you?” Charles said, softly. Raven bit her lip.  
p>

“Maybe.” She admitted it softly.  
p>

“Does your majesty have your eye on a particular someone?” Moira's eyes were twinkling. Raven made a face.  
p>

“That’s the problem.” Erik coughed. “No; I mean, the, ah, the candidates.” She clarified, quickly

“Plural?” Charles said, intrigued.  
p>

“Well, I’m not about to whine about being Queen; the crown has always been my duty and right. And we all know that the benefits outweigh the pains.” Raven said, thoughtfully. “that said, a girl- or a boy does dream.”  
p>

“Even a royal one.” Moira said. “I’m sure there are many who dream of you, my Lady.”  
p>

“But one of them I’m sure thinks himself too lowly, and the other, who is highborn, I don’t know if they’d be interested in me without my crown.” Raven sighed.

Erik and Charles locked eyes with Moira, for a long moment. They were fairly sure who the “Highborn” candidate was- the Scarlet Prince- but who was the lowly one? Sure not the Princes’ servant, but-  
p>

“Oh, stop looking so goggle eyed.” Raven said, crisply. “It’s not important, in the scheme of things, let’s get back to business.”  
p>

“Your pardon, majesty, but the matters of your heart are very important, to Genosha.” Erik said, firmly.  
p>

“And to your friends.” Charles murmured. Raven smiled at them, gratefully. I know my duty.” She said. “I will give Genosha –and House Darkholme- an heir or two, never fret.” Raven cleared her throat. “Now, I think we have farmers, to talk about?” The three Swords nodded.  
p>

“I prefer to appoint an administrator.” Erik raised an eyebrow at her statement. “Because if I grant the lands to a noble, I want to make sure I don’t destabilize the Court, first.” Raven clarified.  
p>

“I have several candidates here who might make satisfactory administrators.” Moira said. The Queen nodded, decisively. 

The Palace Guard stationed outside the door rapped three times. Charles looked up, sharply alert to the break in routine. The guard knocked three times more. A known visitor, then, and not one forcing him to open the door. Erik moved to the door.  
“What is it?” “Uh- two of your guests crave a short private audience, majesty.” the unseen Palace Guard answered  
p>

“Well, identify them, boy.” Erik hissed, sharply. He was going to have to go over etiquette again with Logan. That looked to be an enjoyable evening for all.  
p>

“”His Highness Azazel, Prince of Muscovy, and um…”  
p>

“Henry McCoy.” A voice muttered. “But you don’t- I’m not important-“

Raven stiffened, and her face went blank. Charles said and thought nothing. Moira frowned.  
p>

“Let them enter.” Raven declared. To her Swords she said “We’ve the time, I think?” Moira nodded. Charles stayed silent. Erik looked at him, worriedly, as the two mis-matched guests made their bows.  
p>

“Prince Azazel.” Raven said, formally. Azazel gave her a flourishing bow as McCoy bent awkwardly at the waist.  
p>

“Radiant majesty.” Azazel said, as he straightened. “I have come to you to report a most grave thing.”

Henry McCoy swallowed, nervously. His hands were shaking, Charles noted, and the wave of anxiety and guilt that rose from him as he straightened up was unpleasantly remiscent of parts of Charles’s life he would rather leave to the past. Erik stalked back to the table and sat down next to Charles, protectively, as Raven waved the guests to seats.  
p>

“Wine?” Moira poured a cup for Azazel. Hank waved his aside, politely. His throat was too tight to drink. Azazel took his cup with a wide smile of thanks.

“So.” Erik said, somewhat grimly, to Azazel. He appeared to be ignoring the hapless young Westchestrian. “You said you had grave things to speak of?”  
p>

“I do.” Azazel said, imperturbably. “I understand that the act of blackmail is a crime here, as it is in my own kingdom.”  
p>

“You’re being blackmailed?” Erik said, eyeing Hank suspiciously. Raven sat back in her chair and regarded them all. Azazel shook his head.  
“Not I. Henry McCoy.” Everyone turned to look at Hank, who twitched, nervously.  
p>

“By whom?” Charles said, gently. “Can you tell us-“

“Cain Marko.” Hank blurted, abruptly. “He- has-“  
p>

“Had.” Azazel said, happily.  
p>

“Evidence that, ah, calls my status as free into question.” Hank said, rather desperately. Charles nodded, encouragingly. “My mother- it was a private sale, when I was a baby-“  
p>

“Ah.” Charles said, suddenly enlightened.  
p>

Hank looked at the blank faces of the rest of the Genoshan contingent. He faltered, plainly mistaking incomprehension for disbelief. “I- I swear, he really would have revealed it, and, and I-“ Azazel put a hand on Hank’s arm, and he stopped talking, staring at the table.

“How long?” Charles said, quietly. “When did he find out?”  
p>

“About six months after his father hired me to keep an eye on him; he realised that that was what I was doing, and he… took steps.” Hank said, to the table. “That was, oh, three years ago, now.” Azazel leaned back, and waited.  
p>

“So he forced you to what, stay with him?” Erik said. Hank nodded, without raising his eyes. “F-falsify the reports I sent to his father; give him most of my wages, do his work…”  
p>

“And he continued to do that when you both came to Genosha.” Raven said. 

“Genosha doesn’t have slavery; you know.” Moira said, neutrally. “You could have stayed here; sought another employer.”  
p>

“My mother still lived in Westchester, then.” Hank said. “The penalty- me, they’d sell, maybe, but her-“ he broke off, and swallowed.  
p>

“Fines, maybe a lashing, and if she couldn’t pay the fines, they’d sell her too.” Charles said, quietly, sympathetically. Raven looked at him. Charles gave a tiny nod.  
p>

“You believe-?” She began, but Charles cut her off before she could ask the rest of that wounding question.

“I believe that if Cain had evidence, or something that would have passed for evidence, he could have made life extremely unpleasant for Hank, here, and his family.” He said it firmly. Erik sat up sharply. Moira leaned forwards, eyes bright with interest. Charles vouched for the possibility; Azazel seemed definite too. This changed things.  
“I’m- I’m a coward, but- we could never earn enough to get away from Westchester.” Hank admitted. “I couldn’t- I- there was so much I could have done, have stopped, but-“

“It’s not your fault.” Raven said. “You were protecting your mother.” Hank stared at her. She leaned towards him, intent. “Charles, here-“ She looked at her Champion with a fond smile. “We all know how, ah, wrong-headed Westchester is about slavery.” She finished, tactfully.  
p>

“And what a slave suffers there.” Erik said, harshly. Charles bit his lip, and ducked his head. Erik put an arm over the Champion’s shoulders. Azazel’s eyes narrowed. “So. You were blackmailed.” Erik returned to the matter at hand. “And Prince Azazel, you come to us, because?”

“I thought the Queen might like a gift.” Azazel said. “More than flowers, or gems, this one.”  
p>

“What gift?” Charles said, sharply. “What do you believe you are giving the Queen, highness?” Azazel smiled, broadly.  
p>

“The gift of dealing with Cain Marko, of course. Is the man not so very clearly a criminal in need of chastisement?” There was a long silence. Erik began to grin.  
p>

“Your mother?” Charles said to Hank, quickly.  
p>

“In Muscovy, now.” Hank said, with a shy smile for the Prince.

“I do not believe blackmail is a crime covered by diplomatic immunity.” Azazel said, smiling urbanely. “Nor is it the only crime Marko has committed in your fair country.”  
p>

Raven laughed, gleefully. “Oh yes.” She said, happily. “I must convene a court.”  
p>

“I must sharpen my knives.” Erik said, and smiled, lethally pleased.  
p>

“Erik, that only takes you about five heartbeats per knife.” Charles said, thoughtfully.  
p>

“Oh, I plan on using all of them when… if Cain Marko is found guilty of blackmail.” Erik said, still smiling.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plotting continues.
> 
> Be afraid, Cain. Be very afraid.

Hank watched the council of war with wide eyes. Preparations for bringing about the trial of Cain Marko were being undertaken with as much concentration and seriousness as if the man were the most wicked being still breathing on the face of the earth. IT was strange, too, how much importance they placed on respecting the law; in Westchester, had someone displeased the Royal Council to the level Cain appeared to have done, those in power wouldn’t be trying to build a legal case against him; he’d simply have been detained at their pleasure.

It seemed very strange that the Queen or the Prince had simply not the power to order Cain’s detention and or execution without resorting to law. Although his father was relatively wealthy, he was not that well born or well connected. No army would rise in his name, no taxes could be withdrawn. And the diplomatic relations between Genosha and Westchester were already strained. Given that his trade mission was very clearly failing, Cain’s loss or death would not make those relations worse.

If anything they would give Westchester the chance to re-open them with a fresh mission. Shaking his head, Hank turned to the man sitting next to him at the table.  
“Lord Champion, don’t take this the wrong way, but… does it seem to you that the other people who live here, are just a little bit crazy?” Hank said, tentatively. The Queens’ Champion smiled at him. “I mean, it’s not- this won’t stop slavery, or anything, it’s just one man being punished.” Hank fretted.

“Oh, perhaps a little crazy. But only in the best ways, I’ve found.” Charles said, warmly. “But you and I… I suspect we do take the existence of slavery a little more, ah, _casually_ than they do.” His smile turned a shade fiercer. “After all, we’ve lived it, or in the shadow of it, almost all our lives. We know how we feel about it as a concrete thing; they feel it as an abstract wrong, except when they have concrete examples.”  
“Concrete examples?”  
“Us.” Charles said. Hank frowned.

“Lord Champion-“ he began. He really had to keep a grip on his court manners. Hank was unhappily aware how little etiquette he’d used when he was spilling his tawdry little tale.  
“Please call me Charles.” Charles said. “And what I meant was; for them, for my Queen and your Prince, it is us, our experiences that makes this personal.”  
“I-“  
“And they like us.” Charles said, cheerfully. The First Sword looked up, steel eyes flashing.   
“I like _you_ , Charles.” He rumbled. Charles raised his wine cup in a toast.

“Er.” Hank said, nervously. He was pretty sure the nature of anyone’s “liking” for him was completely different to the way he could tell Erik Lehnsherr liked Charles. Azazel laid a piece of paper in front of the Queen of Genosha with a triumphant air, and she smiled up at him, warmly. “He’s not my Prince. Not really.”  
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” The Queen’s Champion murmured into his wine. Hank blinked at him. Charles smiled, but said nothing further. Erik snorted.

The other senior Sword said, calmly.  
“But that only applies if the crime was against a Genoshan citizen.” Erik frowned at her words. Moira sighed. “And Hank is not Genoshan.”  
“He could be sponsored.” Raven said, thoughtfully. Hank coughed.  
“Or… there are other crimes.” He said. “I mean, it’s standard in Westchester, to gift people whose favour you want with nice things.”  
“Who did he try to bribe?” Azazel said, fascinated. Hank rubbed his forehead.

“Most of the Council, Highness; I tried to persuade him to go for subtle and tasteful gifts, things that could be explained as samples of the trade goods we were discussing, but…”  
“Cain was never very good at subtle.” Charles said, understandingly.  
“I believe most of them just sent them back and chalked it up to cultural misunderstandings-“  
“Wasn’t he supposed to be here in a diplomat’s role?” Azazel said, wonderingly. Hank nodded.  
“I can’t- couldn’t always get him to listen to me or let me do the visible work. But he had a repution-”  
“Which you earned for him?” Charles asked. Hank nodded.  
“He had a reputation, for success, so they sent him.” 

“He really is a fool to himself.” Azazel said. “He cannot hear or understand wisdom when it is laid before him.” Hank nodded.  
“Well, how are we to prove some of this?” Erik said, sounding disgusted. “The majority of the evidence for the worst crimes is tied up in Hank’s memory, now those sales papers are burnt.”  
“I’m sorry.” Hank said, “I- I know I should have kept them, but- my whole life, they were so dangerous, we had to have them of they’d have seized me when they took her for debt-“ Erik shot him a friendly grin, and shook his head.

“Not at all. You didn’t know us, you weren’t sure what was going to happen; of course destroying that letter was the best strategic move at the time.” Hank blinked. “Just- I do not think Charles would be able to give telepathic confirmation of your testimony.” Charles shook his head, ruefully.  
“Too many people know who Cain is- was, to me; how I got here.” The Queen nodded. Moira smiled, reminiscently.

“Too many people already know him for a fool and a wicked man.” She said. “Reading Anne-Marie’s letters have been very entertaining. I shall ask her if I can share them with you all.”  
“Why was she writing about Cain?” Charles said, worriedly. Mora smiled again.  
“She knows people; through her mother. A certain young man of the street; Remy, I think she calls him; has been trying to win her approval.” Moira paused.  
“Where does Cain fit in?” Charles said, still worried.

“Apparently he’s a very bad gambler, and a very good target for pickpockets.” Moira said, calmly.  
“Wait- you mean he really has been targeted by thieves as much as he claimed?” Hank said, astounded. Moira nodded, smirking. Charles looked stunned. Again. Erik chuckled, and moved to sit next to him. Hank tensed, but relaxed as Charles turned to Erik and kissed him. Cautiously, he edged away from the two Swords.

“That is _amazing._ I must find some way to convey my gratitude to the lady.” Hank said, reverently, to Moira. “I can’t tell you haw… satisfying it’s been, to watch him lose his purse so often.”   
“Write a letter; I’ll see Anne-Marie gets it.” Moira said. “Just be aware her mother will likely read it; Anne Marie is still a child.” Hank nodded.

“That’s it.” Raven said. “That’s it; Hank you’re a genius, and so are you, Moira.” Hank went nearly as red as the Scarlet Prince. Moira titled her head, questioningly.  
“Charles can’t testify; but Madame Grey can.” The Queen said.  
“She only met Cain once; no involvement there.” Erik agreed. “And she has standing, her word is reliable, in the eyes of the court.”  
“She’s done so before.” Charles said. Erik gave him a wolfish smile. Hank edged away a little further, disguising his move away as a move to the side of the Scarlet Prince.

“Henry.” Azazel said, looking concerned. “Would your mother be amenable to a telepathic reading?” Hank turned to face him. “I think she would be; but I’m not sure she would want to risk leaving Muscovy, she’d worry too much about her employer, and. Things.” He finished, rather apologetically. “I- I mean, my mother knew it was a crime; what she did- I just-” Hank stopped, as he realised everyone, even Charles, was staring at him.  
“Your mother is afraid that a court of mine would rule her a criminal for protecting a child, for raising them with love?” The Queen said, slowly, and Hank blanched. 

He shook his head, hurriedly.  
“N-no, of course not! But, but if she is uh, part of the legal proceedings, then- Westchester would be within its rights to request you return both of us, instead of just me-“  
“They can request you all they want, they’re not getting you.” Raven said. “Or your mother. Ever.” Hank blinked. She had sounded more forceful there, than he had expected.  
“Thank you, your majesty.” He said, at last. 

Erik peered at him, curiously.  
“Did you really think that we’d tolerate a ruler who did that?”   
“What, got rid of a diplomatic issue by giving the other country a minor secretary, as a sop?” Hank said calmly. “I didn’t think you would, but…” Azazel smiled.  
“My mother has been pleased to grant yours citizenship of the Kingdom.” He said, calmly, to Hank. “We do not surrender our people to Westchester’s cruelties, anymore than I suspect the good people of Genosha do.” 

Azazel looked at the Queen. She nodded, thoughtfully.  
“Because Marko’s a diplomat; I can’t take part in his trial myself.” She said to Hank. “I’m sorry about that, but-“  
“Majesty, please- I understand the demands of diplomacy and law.” Hank said, hurriedly. He ducked his head. “I- I know you have other reasons for targeting Cain Marko; but I cannot help but be grateful that they help me and my mother, too.” He studied his hands. Charles drew in a sharp breath, but no one spoke for a moment.

“Other reasons, perhaps.” Raven said, and took his hand in hers.   
“Not better ones.” Azazel said, and took Hank’s other hand.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janos sighed deeply. He looked at the ceiling in a mute appeal for understanding.  
> “Two of them, now.” He observed, sourly and cryptically. 
> 
> In which Janos is a much put upon man, and Hank eats a sandwich.

“What’s next?” Raven said, standing. Everyone in the room got to their feet.  
“You have a meeting with the City Guard; to discuss commendations and honours.  
“Whee.” Raven said, dryly. “I prefer giving them out to discussing them.” She explained to Hank’s puzzled face. He nodded, flushing, and bowed over her presented hand. Raven looked a little disappointed. Hank wasn’t sure. Should he have offered to kiss it? That was for nobles, but still…  
“Well, I think that went quite well.” Moira said to her Queen, as they left the room. 

“My lord.” Janos said, quietly, in the doorway. “It pains me, but you did not eat lunch this day.” Azazel shrugged  
“The meeting ran on; and there was much to discuss we could not risk even the most loyal servants overhearing.” He said. Janos frowned.  
“And yet you are still here, although the Queen has departed and her Swords follow.” Janos said, dryly, and moved towards his lord. “Come. I have made preparations,”

Recognising his cue, Hank nodded, politely and turned to leave.  
“Where are you going, Hank?” Azazel said, calmly. Hank’s heart made an odd, half-scared leap in his chest. He looked up, flushing.  
“Cain, Highness- he’ll be wondering where I’ve got to; I usually bring his meals, and he’ll be getting angry, so –“ Azazel shook his head.  
“Will he?” Erik said, across the room. “Let him.” Hank shuffled his feet.  
“I-“ he faltered. Truthfully, he had to admit to himself he was still wary of angering Cain, even after he knew Cain no longer had the power to hurt his mother.

“If you don’t mind me advising you, Henry, I think it might be best if you stayed away from Cain for the time being. Control the flow of information, as it were.” Charles said, calmly, although his eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t tell him anything!” Hank said, irritated. “I’m not stupid!”  
“No” Azazel said, warmly. “No, Hank, you are not. But if he is informed that you have been detained, he may think he is safe.” Charles nodded.  
“Speak to, ah Logan, about new quarters. He’s head of the Palace Guard.”

“Oh.” Hank said. “Yes, that might work. Ah, your Highness.” Azazel made an odd grimace.  
Erik stepped around Janos wordlessly, nodding to the Prince. Charles scurried after him; nodding in his turn. Hank tried not to feel bereft. He had scarcely known these Genoshans before Azazel had prodded him into revealing his- no, Cain’s- vulnerability. He could not reasonably find their presence comforting, not yet. But he did not really want to be alone. 

And where should he go, that would be away from Cain, anyway? Where would Logan be, at this hour? Janos stared at him for a long moment.  
“ _You_ did not eat, either.” He observed, accusingly, and rolled his eyes.  
“Oh, well, I wasn’t- this was important, and, I- I’m quite used to skipping the odd-“ Hank started, cheerfully enough, but then he looked at Janos’s face and the words dried up in his throat. “Er.” He said. “Sorry?” 

Janos sighed deeply. He looked at the ceiling in a mute appeal for understanding.  
“Two of them, now.” He observed, sourly and cryptically. “Come _along,_ both of you.” Hank stood back to let the Scarlet Prince precede him out of the meeting chamber. Azazel smiled as he passed, and Hank took a deep breath, only to find something warm and strong and in no way a hand, coiling around his wrist. He stumbled forwards, and almost walked into the Prince, staring at the tail pulling him along.

“It is never wise, I have found.” Azazel said, lightly. “To deny Janos his way. He has said he has made preparations. And his wrath, it is a terrible thing.”  
“But-“ Hank said, protesting faintly, as he followed his guides.  
“You and my lord here both forget to eat.” Janos said, striding ahead. “And then it is late, and the cooks are all asleep and it is all “Oh, I feel faint,” His tone became mocking. “Oh, I must be hungry, oh Janos…” He trailed off as they walked into the corridor past the bland face of the palace guard. “It makes for extra work. As opposed to eating at regular intervals like a decent person.”

“And Janos is spiritually opposed to extra work.” Azazel said, solemnly. Hank nodded.  
“I won’t- I don’t want to be any trouble.” He said, humbly. The grip around his wrist tightened just a little. Janos snorted.  
“My lord, didn’t you say that this man was wise? You could learn much, from him.”  
“It is very true.” Azazel said, smiling down at Hank in a way which made him feel too warm. “I believe I could.”

Janos’s preparations appeared to consist of bread and cold meats and cheeses. And salads. Azazel had not wanted to eat the salads, but, Hank noted, meekly ate green, leafy vegetables under his secretary’s stern eye without too much protest. He smiled into his sandwich.  
“You should eat more.” Janos said, critically. “You are too thin; and if what you say of your strength being greater, it stands to reason your capacity for food will also be greater.” Hank chewed and swallowed, rapidly. When he began to make himself another sandwich, both of the men made approving noises at him. He blushed again.

After his third? fourth? sandwich- Hank had lost count- Azazel sighed, and moved from sitting at the table to sprawling himself on the chair that stood by the fireplace. He pulled off his boots, hands bright against the dark leather. Hank tried not to stare. Quietly Janos began to tidy up. Hank rose to help him and receive such a ferocious scowl he retreated towards the fireplace, automatically.  
“Sit, sit.” Azazel said, waving towards the other empty chair. Hurriedly, Hank obeyed. He watched the small fire glow in the ashy hearth. 

Across the room, small clinks and clattering from Janos’s actions made a pleasant background noise. Hank sighed, and felt himself relax a little more. He cautioned himself to be wary; to remember his place. As long as he was useful; he probably had nothing to fear from the Prince, and after he was useful, Hank doubted he had more to fear than indifference.  
“You are quiet.” Azazel said. Hank turned to look at him; the man’s eyes were dark in the firelight. “Do you still worry for your family?” Hank shook his head.

“Mother is so very happy, the honour of her new job- she thinks we’re both safe- and she’s all the family I have.”  
“Oh.” Azazel said, still quiet. “Your parents- they did not have more children?” Hank shook his head again, and rubbed his right foot, absently.  
“Well, my birth mother was her cousin, and once slavery takes a close relative, everyone gets more distant.” Hank said, without bitterness. Azazel blinked. “I think- one of the reasons they agreed to help my mother’s cousin was she hadn’t- they had no children.” He said, thoughtfully. 

Janos moved forwards into the firelight, and leant against the wall, watching them. “And, of course, afterwards- the laws changed, and what they’d done became punishable by a lot more than it had been when they did it.”  
“They changed?” Hank nodded.  
“Too many debtors or criminals were selling their children cheap to relatives, getting them out of the slavery trap.” He sighed. “The powers that be use slavery as a deterrent because it affects the whole family, so they tightened the law and increased the punishments. My father- he died, not long after.” He rubbed his left foot. 

“I’m sorry.” Azazel said. “Your father.” He clarified, when Hank looked at him. “And the whole- Westchester is a crazy country. No offence.”  
“None taken.” Hank said. “It works for the people in power; of course, and that’s all that counts. To them.” Azazel nodded.  
“One of my duties is to ensure not only that my House continues to rule, but that we deserve it, and that we rule a country, a people, worthy of it.” He seemd very serious. Hank nodded, soberly. A short silence followed.

“What is wrong with your shoes?” Janos said, curiously. Hank gaped at him.  
“I- what?”  
“Your feet look as if they are hurting.” Janos said. “Usually, one must blame the shoes, in such cases...”  
“Oh, no.” Hank said, gulping slightly. “It’s only my Gift.” He faltered for a moment, and pulled off his own shoes and socks, to demonstrate. He wiggled his toes, sighing in relief at letting his feet spread and relax out of their tight confines. “See?”

Azazel sat up, sharply, and Janos leant forwards.  
“Fascinating.” Janos said. “They look more like hands. Can you use them so?”  
“Pretty much.” Hank said, and bent to shake hands with each of his feet, in demonstration. “Not as good at delicate, precision work, but- handy enough.” He made a face. “I apologise for the pun, there.”  
“Do not.” Azazel breathed, eyes bright. “Apologise for anything about yourself, Henry McCoy.” He stretched out his tail, and tapped Hank’s left foot, playfully. Hank curled his toes and grabbed at the tail with them, but he was too slow. The tail whipped away.

“Why hide them?” Janos said.  
“Shoes aren’t really hiding feet, they’re more of a necessity.” Hank pointed out, logically.  
“Those shoes did not look comfortable.” Azazel said, tapping at Hank’s foot again.  
“Well, no, not entirely.” Hank said, a little distracted by his feet. He wiggled his toes again. “But they were cheap. Custom made shoes, for these- I don’t like to think what they’d cost.” He bent over, and rubbed at the arch of his left foot. It always seemed to cramp up worse than the other, for some reason. 

He missed the significant look Azazel shot Janos over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will not be updated tomorrow, as I will be getting a filling at the dentist, and am therefore going to be too busy screaming internally in a feeble panic to write more. Sorry about that.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three different ways of spending an evening.

“Hank.” Janos said, gently, and Hank jerked his head up, hastily. The candles were burning low in their sockets. Across the room, Azazel was writing, or sketching something. He smiled at them both before returning to his work.  
“I’m sorry.” Hank said, apologetically. “I didn’t realise it had got so late, I’ll go and find” –  
“If you wake Logan, now, I do not think he will be happy.” Janos said, quietly. “It is very late.”  
“Oh.” Hank said. He blinked, and tried to think.

His heart lodged itself in his throat again. His feet were cold, and he was very tired, but Hank did not want to lose the Prince’s favour, a favour he seemed to have fallen into, by purest chance. Hank could not think why the Scarlet Prince should even remember his name, let alone have involved himself in the miserable tangles he’d managed to get his life into. And yet, he had. And certainly, at first he could not have expected much of a reward. Hank was a nobody. He had little enough to offer anyone, let alone… 

And yet. Azazel had pulled his mother to safety. Janos had stolen the papers that held him in thrall to Marko. And now Azazel was eagerly pursing the destruction of Can Marko, and, it seemed, not only to please the Queen he courted. It was late, and Hank could not remember what these gesture would likely mean, in the Court at Muscovy. He tried to hide his frown.  
Janos shot him a smile.  
“Fortunately.” He said. “I made preparations. This way.” 

Stiffly, Hank rolled to his feet, and bowed to Azazel. The Scarlet Prince acknowledged him with a gesture of his quill, before turning back to his papers, wordlessly. Hank’s shoes appeared to have vanished. Janos made an impatient noise Hank shrugged, inwardly, and followed the Prince’s secretary in bare feet.  
“Where are we-“ The question died in Hank’s throat, as Janos opened the door. The room beyond was quiet, neat, tidy. Unused.

“The legal court convenes tomorrow for the first hearing.” Janos reminded him. “Your testimony is vital. Rest well.” Hank stated, uncertain.  
“I’m not- I don’t want to throw anyone out of their, their space.” He said, nervous. “I can sleep by the fire easily enough.” Janos glared at him for a long moment, before softening.  
“The Genoshans over estimated how many servants my Lord was like to bring for his visit.” He said, and Hank relaxed, a little. “This is just one of the rooms in the suite they offered us. But when my Lord can return a servant to his own place, daily… bedrooms become less necessary.” Janos smiled again.

“Oh.” Hank said again. Janos clapped him on the shoulder, ignoring his attempt at flinching away.   
“It is late. We can discuss clothes and minor matters in the morning. Sleep now.” He bustled Hank into the room, lighting candles and adding a log to the small fire sleepily burning in the hearth. “Don’t just stand there. Bed!” Janos snapped, and Hank jumped. He hurried into the room, and was startled to fin Janos assisting him out of his coat and unlacing his collar from his shirt  
“Uh-“

“I am secretary and valet.” Janos said, amused by Hank’s uncertain surprise. “And you are slow.” Hank didn’t say a word more as Janos, treating him as if he were a wealthy man, or a noble, helped him into a nightshirt that seemed to fit him suspiciously well.  
“I- Janos. Thank you.” He said, humbly, at last, as he climbed into the bed. Janos pulled the covers up over him.  
“Thank me by sleeping.” He said, firmly, scooping up Hank’s clothes and blowing out at candle on his way to the door. “I must see to my master, now. Goodnight.”  
“Goodnight.” Hank said, and lay back, bewildered but comfortable. 

Surely, he thought, no one in the whole of Genosha, could be as puzzled as he was, that moment. No one. 

His eyes drifted shut, and, before he knew it, Hank was deeply peacefully asleep.

 

Cain stared at his locked door in disbelief and not a little fear. He had been arrested. No. The burly Palace guardsman had corrected him. Not _arrested._ Detained for questioning.  
“What’s the difference?” Cain had snarled.  
“You’re the diplomat, bub. You figure it out.” The other had said, before shoving- actually shoving Cain into the plain room he was in, and locking the door behind him as he left.

That had been hours ago. Cain had been angry, bellowing orders and yelling for food, wine, answers, but nothing had come. No one had come near, and Cain had felt the first stab of a fear that was now cutting him so deeply, he was half afraid if he looked down, he’d see blood. He was being ignored. Isolated. Alone. This had to be something to do with Charles, but what? He hadn’t gone near the other man, not since that… time by the fountain. He shivered, fearful, for a moment.

Then Cain shook himself. As soon as Hank got here, he could get him to sort it out. Hank was good at sweet-talking people, and he never needed to know that Cain no longer knew where the letters and tag that kept him in Cain’s control were. As long as Hank was afraid of Cain opening his mouth, he’d keep his boss out of trouble if he knew what was good for him.

He couldn’t deny that this was bad. The Trade Mission had probably failed. No. No, the delegation had not failed, not yet. No, if it had, and he went home, they’d likely crucify him. Possibly literally. He had smoothly promised good results, had promised to pay off debts- everyone made money when they had a trade mission, why would Cain be any less lucky? There must be something he could do. Or Hank.

Where was Hank anyway? Perhaps they were starting with him. No one would raise a fuss if a lowly nobody like Hank was interrogated a little roughly. Hank had no diplomatic immunity, not really. _Rather him than me._ Cain thought, darkly, and then worried some more. What if they managed to get something incriminating out of McCoy? Hurt him a little and he’d fold, say anything, sign anything. He was weak. That’s why Cain liked using him. What if that was turned against him?

But no, Hank didn’t know he’d lost the letter. Hank still thought Cain had Hank and his stupid bitch of an owner-mother in his pocket. Hank would keep his mouth shut, if he didn’t want to see the old fraud stripped and flogged in public, and himself sold to the mines, maybe. Or the galleys. Cain chuckled. He remembered how terrified and sick McCoy had looked, reading that letter, and knowing Cain held the chain. Knowing Cain was the man in charge, now.

But amusement faded fast, in the small, bare room. No windows. No doors, except the one he’d come in by. Lamps and the fire and himself. That was all Cain had,, now. What was Charlie- Charles planning? He had to be behind this.  
 _“You are a ghost from my dead past. I will exorcise you.”_ Charles’ final words came back to Cain, and he shivered. Although there was a fire in the hearth, and oil lamps burning bright enough to keep the shadows at bay, the room seemed stiflingly dark and small, for a moment. 

 

*************************

It was late. They really ought to trim the candles before they started guttering, Erik thought, vaguely.  
“I’m not going to attend the trial.” Charles said, smoothly, to Erik. Erik blinked, and sat up. The sheets drifted down, revealing his finely muscled chest. Charles stole a moment to appreciate the view before he propped his head on his arm.  
“He won’t be able to hurt you.” Erik promised him, gravely.

“I’m not worried about that.” Charles said, amused, and touched. “I can defend myself, easily enough, these days.” They both smiled, sharing the memory of Cain lying in the dust under Charles’s feet by the fountain.  
“Thanks to Logan.” Erik said, a little shortly. “Your blade work is really coming on, you know.”  
“Actually, thanks to you. And Moira, and Alex and Angel, of course. But mostly you.” 

Charles rolled over to stare at the ceiling. It was late; and the world of the Palace around their room was hushed and sleeping, for the most part. Only the occasional alert mind of the night guards patrolling provided a contrast to the dreamy telepathic atmosphere exuded by most of its inhabitants.  
“How so?” Erik said, curiously. His hand wandered out to trace a line down Charles’s ribs. Charles wriggled, ticklish. The hand splayed out and remained still, resting on Charles’s stomach.

“Before.”Charles said. “I- it was one of the hardest things, to learn.” Erik breathed in, slowly.  
“What was?”  
“That I- that this”- Charles swept his hands over his own body, demonstratively “Was mine, again. That my knee-jerk reaction to threat could be more than just freezing and enduring.”  
“What?” Erik said. “But surely, once you were free?”  
“Instincts can stay with you.” Charles said, and flicked a careful look at him. Erik’s eyes were very dark, in the candlelight. “I’d been a slave since I was thirteen, Erik. That was a lot to unlearn. You four started it, all of it.”

Charles shifted over to put his head on Erik’s chest.  
“You know Shaw thought I would be obedient, to a firm hand? Because I’d been a slave.”  
“That’s why he let Raven name you Champion, yes.” Erik said, his voice sounding different to Charles in his new position. “His mistake.” Charles tuned his head slightly and lipped at Erik’s nearest nipple, thoughtfully.  
“Nghk.” Erik said, and put his hand on Charles’s back, warm and protective. Charles tilted his head. His smile was warm, and sweet. Erik returned it, teeth glinting in the light.

“So, I’m not going to watch Cain squirm.” Charles said, as if the past five minutes had not happened.  
“Thought- you might- enjoy that.” Erik said, slightly breathlessly. Charles did not stop licking.  
“Well.” Charles said. “Not really the kind of squirming I like.” Nip. Kiss. Erik shivered.  
“Really.” Erik said, dryly. “Charles, if you keep that up, I’ll be doing more than _squirming._. Somewhat to his disappointment, Charles listened to him. The kisses stopped.

“I’m pretty sure justice will be done.” Charles said. “And I don’t want it thought that I influenced the court, in search of revenge.” He tapped his temple.  
“No one would think that of you.” Erik said; voice gravelly. “Madame Grey will be testifying, not you.”  
“Westchester might.” Charles said, unhappily.

“Point.” Erik said. “The Queen has stated she’s not attending, either. I’ll represent the Crown.”  
“You want to see Cain squirm?” Charles said, lightly. “Really, Erik-“  
“ **Yes.** ” Erik hissed. “I want to do more than that, I want to see him _scream_ , but torture and the death sentence are both out. Diplomacy.”

“Oh.” Charles said, slightly shaken. “But, Erik, you’ve said it yourself, he can’t hurt me, now. Why does-”“He hurt you _then_.” Erik said, as Charles crawled up the bed slightly, and hugged him more tightly. “He deserves to suffer. I just have to find out the most fitting way.” He put a hand over Charles’s nape, as Charles tucked his face into Erik’s neck.  
“Best part of revenge.” Said Charles, muffled, to Erik’s throat. “Is living well.”

“Is it?” Erik said, slowly. He grinned, quick and fierce, at the empty room beyond. Charles could not see. He ran his fingers though Charles thick dark hair, thoughtfully. Then he grinned.  
“Charles. I feel… full of vengeance, tonight. Can you help me?”  
“You’re certainly full of something.” Charles said, but he tilted his head back agreeably enough to be kissed. And the rest of the evening certainly counted as living well. For both of them.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain gets his day in court. It does not go well.
> 
>  
> 
> For him.

The baliff sounded very calm as he spoke.  
“The hearing will come to order.”   
The muttering and whispering subsided. The crowd- anxious defendants or accusers, family, people out for a day of cheap entertainment, law students- silenced themselves, only staring a little at the recognisable faces mixed in with the usual ordinary folk. No one knew precisely why the First Sword of Genosha, along with other high Palace officials were present today. It was not usual to for such persons to attend the court of first instance, and seeing them had caused a wave of speculative comments and looks to wash through the room.

First hearings determined whether the alleged crime was serious enough to require a full trial, and if there was enough evidence to proceed, and which court- Family court, Guild and Trade, or Criminal- should have the expertise the trial would need. Erik sat, near the back, his face and body unmoving. Moira and Angel, a little nearer the front, leafed through papers with Janos. Neither the Scarlet Prince, Hank, or Cain was yet in sight. _Good._ The news would doubtless spread faster than fire in a haystack through Genosha when their case was called; but better to keep the flame banked until it could be seen clearly, with no misunderstandings.

The first hearing involved some stolen chickens; the Judge heard both sides, ordered the chicken thief to return the original birds, but permitted him the chicks that had hatched since he had been feeding the birds since finding them straying. He rang his bell for the next case. The second was a more serious theft. That, the judge sent to the criminal court. Erik found his attention straying. He thought about Charles; and hoped the Queen’s Champion was finding enough to do managing the public audience Raven had called to distract herself from the drama about to unfold in the courtroom. One case of slander, one of breach of promise, and a cheated apprentice later, it was their turn. 

The bailiff juggled his lists, and called out.  
“Next case; his Highness Azazel of Muscovy against Cain Marko of Westchester!” Azael moved into the courtroom proper, with his hand on Hank’s shoulder. The young Westchestrian man looked very tense and pale, but Erik thought, he also looked resolute. The crowd muttered. There was an unpleasant edge to it. The knowledge of what their Queen’s Champion had endured before he came back to serve the Queen he had rescued so long ago had made Westchester unpopular, even before Anne Marie and her little friends had made Cain Marko’s deeds and face known

Erik took care not to smile too widely, and sat back to enjoy the show.

“What is your complaint, Prince Azazel?” The judge said. If he was astonished at seeing the crown Prince of a powerful kingdom in a ordinary court in Genosha, he concealed it well.  
“I am a witness to the crime of blackmail.” Azazel said, smoothly, in his lightly accented Genoshan. The judge blinked, and everyone in the gallery craned forwards, murmuring in added interest. Hank twitched. Moira straightened her spine.  
“That is a most grave crime.” The judge said, gravely. “Against whom do you testify, for the record?”  
“Cain Marko of Westchester has been blackmailing his secretary for three years.” Azazel said, smoothly.

“And is Cain Marko present?” The judge asked, as the murmuring broke into a few scattered boos. The door at the side of the court opened, and Cain Marko was propelled in by Logan  
“Yep.” Logan said, cheerfully. “He’s right here.”  
“I demand- I- what is _going on_?!” Cain said, wildly.  
“Lord Marko.” The judge said, unperturbedly. “You have been accused of committing a serious crime in Genosha; to whit, blackmail. How do you reply?”  
“I have friggin’ _diplomatic immunity,_ damnit!” Erik glanced at the floor, and waited until he felt he could stop smiling before he looked up.

“That is not a denial.” The judge said, blandly, and the crowd laughed. Cain cursed.  
 _Oh Charles._ Erik thought. _this is the most amusing thing I’ve seen in years_ He felt Charles’ answering astonishment as the telepath felt Erik’s mood shift from grimly-determined revenge to hilarity.  
“Prince Azazel.” The judge said. “Have you evidence beyond your word?” The prince rose to his feet once more and nodded. With one hand he urged Hank to stand next to him.  
“It was not I who was blackmailed.” He said. “But this man; Marko’s own secretary.”  
“It’s true, your honour.” Hank said, still white to the lips.

“I see.” The judge said, thoughtfully.  
“Hank McCoy; you-!” Cain started to yell. Logan bent over the man and laid a hand on his shoulder, apparently harmlessly, and whispered in Cain’s ear. Cain shut up, immediately.  
“Can you tell me of the nature of his alleged demands in open court?” the judge said, kindly, to Hank. Hank nodded. “Proceed.” The crowd hushed, wanting to catch every word of this new drama. Hank’s voice was quiet; but clear.  
“About a month after I entered into his father’s service, as Lord Cain Marko’s secretary-“

“You were his friggin; spy too, I haven’t forgotten _that_ Hank!” Cain hissed.” Hank flinched, and continued steadily-  
“He came to me with- with certain evidence that my birth- my adoption- contained irregularities that would lay my family open to heavy penalties should they become known.” Hank said, and looked at his feet. “And said he would not reveal them so long as I... I gave him my salary, and, and... was obedient to him and reported only what he wished to his father.”

“He said this in Westchester?” the judge said, sharply. Hank nodded.   
“Three years ago, your honour. And he- has not stopped since.”  
“He has been blackmailing you continuously?” the judge said. Hank nodded again.  
“Have you evidence?” Hank flushed.  
“His highness found- gave me the letters and-“ Hank drew an unsteady breath. “I burned them, I’m sorry, I just- I couldn’t-“ He broke off. Azazel gripped Hank round the arm, soothingly.  
“See!” Cain spluttered. “It’s just his word against mine, and I have-“

“Silence, Lord Marko.” The Judge said. “You are the accused here; please do not speak out of turn.”  
“Would you be willing to submit to a telepathic Truth-search on this matter?”  
“Yes, your honour.” Azazel said.  
“Yes.” Hank said, quietly.   
“The hell I will!” Cain Marko said. He was on his feet again. “You can’t- this pack of rubbish-“ Logan shoved him back into his chair. He glared at Hank, who flinched back against the Scarlet Prince.

“Lord Marko.” The judge said, quietly. “I have warned you once. I warn you again. The next time you speak out of turn or disrespectfully to anyone here present; you will be considered in contempt of court.  
“And you won’t enjoy that, bub. So shut up and listen.” Logan breathed into the man’s ear. Erik caught it; he didn’t think the judge had.  
“To return to the matter; I imagine the letter contained things you wished concealed from the public eye?” the judge said to Hank.  
“Yes, your honour. I- it was a bill of- of-“ He faltered. Cain looked up, and grinned, viciously. 

Hanks squared his shoulders.  
“It was a bill of sale for an infant child.” He said, softly. There was a rising murmur from the crowd; who were obviously uncertain as to the implications.  
“And, in Westchester, publicising the fact that you- I am assuming it was you- had been purchased as an infant would have had grave consequences, correct?” Hank nodded.   
“Yes, your Honour. I would likely have been sold as a slave by whoever could detain me; and my family-” Hank swallowed. “They would have suffered, too. So I- stayed. Did whatever he wanted.”  
“Here as well as in Westchester?” Hank nodded.

The murmur of the crowd rose to a considerable hubbub. The judges’ eyes widened, and he made several hasty notes.  
“I see. You may sit down.” He said, slowly. “This is, indeed a most grave crime. Too grave for a mere preliminary hearing.” The judge looked thoughtful. “However; the legal situation, with most of the alleged criminal activity occurring overseas, is… complex.” He rubbed his foredhead. Whispers race through the crowds.  
“Lord Marko.” The judge said, after a pause. “Should I remand this case to our criminal court, how are you likely to plead?”  
“Should you _what_?” Cain said. “You can’t, you can’t do _anything_ to me. I’m head of the Trade Mission; I have _diplomatic immunity_.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. The judge looked impatient. Azazel leant over to talk to Hank, quietly.  
“Please respect the court.” The judge said, steadily. Cain sneered at him. “I shall consult the law.” The judge reached for a thick law book and leafed through it. Some people left the courtroom, and Erik wondered, idly, how fast the rumours would spread from the courtroom to the Palace.  
 _-Oh, Raven informed the Westchestrian Ambassador before breakfast.-_ Charles said in his head. _He seemed… curiously unmoved, by Cain’s plight._  
 _I cannot imagine why._ Erik said, and felt the tickle of Charles’s amusement as the telepath giggled. 

The judge read on. Cain began to relax; and Hank grew progressively tenser.  
“Mister.” A small voice said. Erik looked down to see a grubby and poorly dressed boy standing hopefully but him. Automatically he reached for his belt pouch with his powers. Still there.  
“What?” he said, sternly. The boy seemed not to notice his harsh mood.  
“That’s him, innnit mister? The marked man?” The boy pointed at Cain.  
“That’s Cain Marko, yes.” Erik said.   
“They said he sold his brother as a slave.” The boy said. “afore ‘e was Queen’s champion.”   
Erik nodded. “He did. He hurt Ch- he hurt him very badly.” Something tugged at his belt. Erik was entirely unsurprised. 

He clamped down his powers on his money, and waited for the next trick  
The boy turned and glared at Cain, pointedly. Erik bit back a smile.  
“And now- now he’s bin enslaving this one, too?” The boy stared at Hank curiously.   
The Prince sat steady and silent at Hank’s side, unmoving.   
“Weren’t you listening earlier?” Erik said, dry. Of course the boy hadn’t been.  
“Me? Nah, I was-“ The boy broke off. Erik sighed.  
“If you picked any pockets, hand them over now.” The boy made as if to flee. Erik shot out a hand and seized him firmly.  
“Now.” Reluctantly, the boy held up a money pouch. Erik levitated it from his hand. The boy stared.

“I’ll return it to the owner.” Erik said. The boy looked downcast. Erik looked at him: poor, thin, probably hungry two days out of seven, and sighed. He took a handful of coin from his own money pouch and handed it over. “You have to respect the court, boy. Don’t make trouble, now.” He added. The boy grinned at him, and disappeared back into the crowd.  
“I will mister! I will!” Erik felt himself growing more alert; trouble seemed to be brewing. The crowd sighed, muttered, talked to its neighbours, left the courtroom, ate nuts and fidgeted.  
Moira turned round from her position near the front to smile first at Hank, and then at Erik.

Erik nodded back at her. He did not notice the boy had wandered out of the crowd towards Cain, at first, until he heard Cain’s cry of anger as the boy spat on him, gleefully.  
Logan barked a laugh as sudden ripples ran through the crowd; startlement, laughter.  
“You little brat!” Cain yelled. The pickpocket boy grinned, and spat at him again. Cain rose to his feet, striking out at the boy blindly. Logan grabbed hold of his arm as the crowd laughed.  
“Put that boy outside!” the judge snapped. Logan made a gesture, and the bailiff grabbed the boy and dragged him away.

Hank sat completely rigidly upright; the woodenness of his expression was a testament to his self control. Azazel had no such compunction; he laughed loughld, slapping his knees in delight.  
“Lord Marko.” The judge said. “I must-“  
“Damn you all!” Cain raved. “ Treating me like some slave!” His face was completely red.  
“Silence!”  
“ I- I have diplomatic immunity; how dare you keep me here, all, of you, filthy, common- “ Logan yanked Cain back down and slapped a hand over his mouth.

“I conclude there is a case that can- and indeed should- be heard by the criminal court, as soon as suitably learned people may be appointed for the prosecution and the defense.” The judge said, calmly. Cain made a furious noise. The judge looked at him. The crowd muttered louder. The judge continued. “For immediate disrespect to this court, I sentence the defendant to ten lashes, administered at the usual time and place.” Cain’s mouth dropped open. Erik felt a bone-seep satisfaction settle into his chest. 

The judge struck his bell. “Next case, please.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But he can’t- the judge can’t really do that.” Charles said, not for the first time. Hank nodded, uncertainly

“But he can’t- the judge can’t really do that.” Charles said, not for the first time. Hank nodded, uncertainly. It certainly seemed improbable to them.  
“Diplomatic immunity doesn’t cover criminal acts that are considered illegal in both countries.” Janos said, brightly. He took a sip of his wine.  
“Such as blackmail?” the Queen said, and curled her bare feet under her, as she leant back against the couch.  
“Contempt of court.” The Scarlet Prince said, gleefully, and moved a lock of Raven’s hair away from her eyes. She smiled at him. Hank dropped his eyes, quickly.

“But-“ Charles and Hank said together. They broke off, staring.  
“No buts.” Erik said, happily. “Ten lashes. In public. The complete failure of his Trade Mission. A public trial.” He drew a deep breath and laid his hand over Charles, palm down on the table. “It’s a start.” Charles looked down at their joined hands. First one corner of his mouth turned up, and then the other.  
“I feel… I ought to feel bad about being pleased about it, but-“ he grinned. “He deserves- at least a little unpleasantness- I think-“

“He deserves a lot more than just a little unpleasantness.” Hank said, bluntly. “He really, really does.” Azazel coiled his tail comfortingly around Hank’s ankle. Hank jumped, and then sat very still. The tail did not move.  
“Cain Marko.” The Scarlet Prince said. “Is a brute and a fool; and a product of his country’s’ painful traditions.” Janos moved around the table, and poured more wine. Moira murmured her thanks. Janos smiled at her, broadly.  
“We really should do something about that.” Raven murmured. The prince nodded. Hank drooped a little more.

“No.” Charles said, rapidly. “No, you absolutely cannot go to war over this, not over long held, legitimately established customs. You _can’t_.” Erik wrapped an arm around his shoulder; he could feel how deeply alarmed Charles was. Hank stood up, and sat at the table, biting his lip worriedly.  
“Of course it would not be war.” Janos said. “That would be very expensive. Also, clumsy.” Charles relaxed, slightly, and Erik pressed a kiss to his temple, smiling.  
“Janos.” Moira said. “Recently, I- and a number of others spent some time in Westchester.”  
“We found a treasure there.” Erik added. “Speaking of expense. They don’t seem to be very good at assessing value correctly.”

“So?” Janos said, and cocked his head. “I have considered travelling there myself; my lord has also found a treasure, thanks to Westchester’s… values.” Hank swallowed. Surely-  
“Yes, I mean you.” Janos said to him, kindly. “Learn to value yourself as we value you.”  
“And, Westchester? Should they learn new values?” Hank said, warily. “How?”  
“I will make some preparations.” Janos said. “And then…”  
“Then what?” Hank said, intrigued. Janos smiled at him.   
“Things will happen. Possibly, it will be a learning experience.” Janos smiled again. 

“I feel… there is always room for a little fresh air, in a society that has grown as stagnant as one that permits enslavement of children, that wastes good souls and exalts those without.” His voice was quiet, calm. Yet Charles still felt the hairs go up on his neck. He shivered, feeling the intensity of feeling that lay behind Janos’ softly spoken words. Erik squeezed Charles tighter.  
“Lady Moira.” Janos said. “May I pick your brains?” Moira smiled, brightly.  
“It will be my most profound privilege.” She said. “Also; you may want to talk to Swords Angel and Sean; who also accompanied us.”

“Perhaps tomorrow.” Janos said. “For now; shall we walk and see the stars as we talk?”  
“The Palace roof is very beautiful at night.” Moira said, and stood. Janos smiled again, bowed to his master and the Queen, and departed with Moira.

“What is he going to do?” Charles said.   
“You heard him say; he will make preparations.” Azazel said, lazily. “He is wise; he will not overshoot. And, in a little while… we will see what may be done.”  
“Genosha- and I- are pleased to offer our support to this venture.” Raven said.   
“Slavery is a poison to the soul, for both owners and owned.” Charles said, softly. “I- I don’t think you could end it by war; but any other way-“  
“Would be worth looking at.” Erik said, also quietly.

“Indeed.” Hank said. “It’s also- it doesn’t make a huge amount of sense, financially; not when you consider things on a wider scale.” Raven cocked her head.  
“Oh?” Azazel sat up slightly. He waved Hank forwards. “Stop sitting at the table; come here and bring the rest of the wine.” Hank picked up the carafe and edged closer. Azazel hooked his tail around one of the padded footstools, and dragged it between him and the Queen. Hank held out the wine as if it were a shield.  
“Mm, thanks.” Raven said, and leaned up to take it from him.

“We should think about leaving.” Erik said, gently.  
“But the economics of slavery-“ Charles protested, as the Scarlet Prince gently yanked Hank down to sit on the footstool next to him.  
“Later, I think.” Erik said, grinning.  
“Oh yes. Yes, I do quite see.” Charles said, quickly. He rose, pulling Erik up with him, and bowed to his Queen. She smiled and waved them a cheery dismissal.  
“Could you.” Raven said, fixing Hank with luminous eyes. “Explain more?”  
“Well, if you think of people as consumers of goods, rather than producers…” Hanks started to say. Erik closed the door then, and so Charles heard no more.

“Charles.” Erik said. “Are you alright?” his lover smiled at him.  
“I will be.” He said. “I just- I have to do something, first.”  
“What?” The smile fell from Erik’s face.  
“Talk to Cain. Just once more. Before the trial, if there is one. Before- before the lashes.” He said, softly. Erik blinked.  
“It’s late.”  
“It’s only just dusk. I don’t intend to see him ever again.” Charles said, quietly.   
“Why now?”  
“I suppose… I suppose I want to say goodbye.” Charles tilted his head. “Will you come with me?”

“Anywhere and everywhere, Charles.” Erik rumbled. “You don’t have to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little chapter squeezed in; also here I must warn you the RL means there will probably be no major updates until Monday, and possibly not even then. Office moves, I do not love thee.


End file.
